


a shape, a spirit, a soul

by bronzemist



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Multi, it's daemons mostly but still, the Faraday/Vasquez is developing/hinted at only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronzemist/pseuds/bronzemist
Summary: In some worlds, a person’s soul is hidden away inside their body.In others, it steps outside and takes the form of a dæmon, an animal whose shape reflects the true self of its person.In one world, seven men fought to take back a town.In another, seven men and seven dæmons did the same.
Relationships: Emma Cullen/Matthew Cullen, Goodnight Robicheaux/Billy Rocks, Joshua Faraday/Vasquez (Implied)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's here, the dæmon AU that's been in progress for over three years now
> 
> a massive hug and thank you to [the-moon-raes](https://the-moons-raes.tumblr.com/) for cheering me on and putting up with my nonsense, without her this fic probably never would've been finished
> 
> and a huge thanks to Fontainebleau for beta-ing this and turning my mad scribbling into something coherent and actually good

People looked twice at Emma Cullen.

She’d been complimented enough on her beauty over the years to be mostly immune to those kinds of glances, and besides, the only man she’d ever been interested in was her husband. It wasn’t her appearance, however, that drew the second glances. It was her dæmon.

Most dæmons, especially in cities, were fairly small. Emma’s mother had had a sparrow; her father had had a dog. Most of her siblings had settled as dogs themselves, those of them who had grown old enough to settle.

Emma’s Abellio had settled as a stag.

People looked twice at the skinny, red-haired girl and her dæmon, twice her size, as they made their way through crowded city streets. Cities - at least in the Eastern part of the country - were not designed for people with dæmons like hers. Meeting and, later, marrying, Matthew Cullen had been a dream, and his proposal that they make for the West even more so.

Matthew’s own dæmon, his Irene, had settled as a dove. Emma felt it made them well-suited; people looked twice at her for her dæmon, and twice at her husband for his.

“They spend so much time lookin’ at us, we ought to charge them for it,” he murmured in her ear as the wagons rolled along.

They settled in Rose Creek and began working the land. They made friends with their neighbours, attended weddings and funerals - all while waiting for children who never came.

“It don’t matter,” Matthew assured her, as she bit back the angry, frustrated tears that wanted to burst out. “Emma, I love you. Children or no children.”

Irene’s feathers brushed against her cheek, and she could feel the echo of his hand on Abellio’s flank.

Children mattered to her, but she’d pushed that aside. There were always other things that were more important, after all. Crops that needed sowing, animals that needed tending, neighbours that needed helping. Emma buried herself in work and ignored the pang in her heart that came whenever she saw Mrs. Saunders and her children, or the widower schoolteacher and his son.

Then Bartholomew Bogue came into town, and started mining.

Soon people were getting sick. More were getting killed or hurt, working in the mine. Crops began to perish, and Bogue began buying out people’s homes, sending them out of town with little more than the clothes on their backs.

They’d held a town meeting, to discuss the problem. Emma should’ve known Bogue would find out about it.

“Twenty dollars for each parcel of dust,” he said, as his dæmon’s jaw gaped open behind him and Josiah barely restrained himself from running to his son.

Emma gripped Matthew’s hand tight, but she couldn’t hold him tight enough. Couldn’t hold him back from helping, from speaking out, from being the man she loved.

The screaming and crying behind her faded into a dull roar, tears mingling with sweat on her face as she hunched over her dying husband.

“No, no, no,” she begged, as Irene’s feathers began to spiral away in streams of golden dust.

“Emma,” Matthew choked out.

“Please,” she cried.

Matthew went slack beneath her. Seconds later, Irene vanished in a burst of gold. Abellio let out a mournful cry.

For a long moment, Emma felt her heart shattering into a thousand pieces. A wave of agony and grief washed over, only to be swiftly burned away by a rage the likes of which she had never felt before.

Emma looked up and saw Bogue’s back as he walked away from the burning church and the dead bodies scattered in the dirt.

She longed for nothing so much as a knife to bury in him.

 _I seek righteousness_ , she would say later, _but I’ll take revenge_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are unfamiliar with dæmons and/or it's been years since you've read Pullman's books, here's a brief explanation:
> 
> a dæmon is a physical manifestation of someone's soul, taking the form of an animal. in childhood, dæmons can shapeshift between forms freely, but they 'settle' into a single form around puberty. dæmons are usually, but not always, the opposite gender from their human.
> 
> a dæmon is part of their human; when one dies, so does the other. at death, the dæmon becomes Dust, the particles from which they're made. because a human and their dæmon are one being, it's both physically and emotionally painful for them to separate too far from each other.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this story is complete, but after this I'm planning to post a chapter a day for the next week, just to spare myself the agony of formatting
> 
> posting a second chapter tonight just because the first was so short

Joshua Faraday was well used to being underestimated.

Ever since his Ann settled - shit, over twenty years ago now - he'd gotten used to people looking at her and making assumptions about him. That he was cowardly. Timid. Soft like her fur.

It had been rough at first, especially when he'd been a scrappy teenager wanting to prove he was a real man. But Faraday'd grown up since then, gotten bigger and bolder and more confident in himself and his draw, and being underestimated worked in his favour more often than not.

After all, folks were a lot more willing to settle in for a game of cards against a man with a dæmon like his than a wolf or a bear. When he put on his best innocent expression, people looked at Ann and thought it must be real. And sure, he could only pull that trick once or twice in the same town, but Faraday was a wanderer at heart. He'd just saddle up Jack and head on out to the next one-horse town along the trail.

Amador City was shaping up to be more of the same, though at least one of his opponents was beginning to wise up to Faraday's scheme. The man's dæmon, some kind of bird, was eyeing Ann with a large yellow eye from its perch on his shoulder. Faraday wasn't worried, though; the dæmon wouldn't act until the man did, and Faraday was a faster draw than most, and certainly faster than a one-eyed farmer half in his cups.

When Sam Chisolm walked in, eagle dæmon perched on his shoulder, the distraction was almost welcome. For a so-called city, Amador had been awfully boring, and the little confrontation at the bar was shaping up to be interesting. His interest paid off, and when the same man who'd been eyeing him drew his gun, Faraday was quick to follow. He needn't have worried; Chisolm was a quick draw and a quicker shot, and the display was enough to make any other interested parties back off.

The room cleared quickly after Chisolm shot Powder Dan, but Faraday lingered. Under the table, Ann huffed and butted her head against his calf.

"Dan, you dead?" he called out. Predictably, there was no response. "Pity. I had just ordered a drink from that man."

Chisolm and his dæmon turned to look. Faraday'd just spent an hour being stared down by a man and a dæmon, but something about Chisolm sent a shiver down his spine. The man didn't speak, just slid a glass down the bar in his direction before heading outside to deal with the gathering townspeople.

While everyone was distracted, Faraday took advantage of the abandoned saloon to clear the table of his winnings and skedaddled out the back, as Ann hopped along at his side.

Just his luck to run into the Babbington brothers when he was almost home free.

Earl and Dickie Babbington were idiots, and Faraday didn't have to look at their dæmons to figure that one out. Dickie was a follower through and through, and while Earl clearly craved the respect and power of being in charge, he didn't have the brains to do it.

After all, they'd left his hands free and not even bothered to check him for hidden weapons. It was shamefully easy to escape after that.

Leaving the Babbington brothers in the dirt, Faraday set out to locate his horse. His memories from the previous night were woefully lacking, and Ann was being awfully quiet about things, which didn't bode well for his getting out of town smoothly.

Just his luck, he reflected sourly, to have gambled Wild Jack while in his cups with a leprechaun.

He was just getting ready for a good old-fashioned Irish brawl when the man from the saloon arrived with a woman and a boy, and things suddenly got very interesting.

* * *

"What do you think?" Sam asked Hester, as Mrs. Cullen and her companion followed along behind him.

"Of them, or the man in the saloon?" his dæmon hummed in his ear.

"Either," he replied, "both."

"The woman wants revenge," she said, golden eye flicking backwards to examine the pair's dæmons, Mrs. Cullen's stag and Teddy Q's hound. "And the boy follows her because he is loyal."

Sam hummed. He agreed with Hester's assessment, as he almost always did. Mrs. Cullen had the right to want revenge, and he was in no position to judge. After all, he had his own grudges against Bartholomew Bogue, grudges he knew he should've laid to rest a long time ago.

"And the man?"

"More than he seems," Hester declared. "And yet exactly as he seems."

They wound their way down the street towards the town livery, where the enraged screams of a horse could be heard. Soon, a corral came into view where a hapless young fellow was trying in vain to put a bridle on the head of a furious bay stallion.

Outside of the corral, an unusually short man was arguing with the man from the saloon. Sam paused and listened to their conversation just long enough to decide what his play was going to be.

"How much for his horse?"

"Twenty-five dollars for the horse, seven and two bits for the saddle," the short man replied, looking up at Sam with mingled irritation and confusion.

"Our paths cross again," the man from the saloon said, expression more curious than anything. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Took a job," said Sam, "looking for some men to join me."

The curiosity intensified, and the man's hare dæmon perked up by his feet.

"Is it difficult?"

"Impossible."

The man's grin widened. "How many you got so far?"

"Two."

"What, them?" He nodded at Mrs. Cullen and Teddy Q, who looked skeptical. But Sam had seen this man pull a gun quicker than blinking back when he'd been confronting Powder Dan. And Hester saw something in him.

"You and me."

The man's grin widened still further, and he tipped his hat to Sam.

"Then, mister, we have an accord."

* * *

Another day, another town full of men eager to lighten their pockets underestimating one Billy Rocks. Goodnight sighed and leaned back against the fencepost, Kalliope curled up in his lap.

The men gathered around the corral were almost all white, the majority with dæmons of middling size, dogs and badgers and the occasional bird. Arcade, Billy's current opponent, had a cat dæmon, though not as beautiful a creature as Goodnight's Kalli.

There was no sign of Billy’s dæmon, which was to their advantage. Smart men thought twice about challenging a man with a serpent dæmon to a quick-draw competition.

Arcade, however, was not a smart man. Goody opened one eye as he threw down the challenge, signing his own death sentence, more like.

Then, he noticed two new men join those who'd already placed their bets. One was on the bigger side, tall and broad-shouldered, while his companion looked young. Their dæmons trailed along behind them, a hound and a hare, it looked like. Interesting.

In the end, of course, there had never been a question of who would win. Billy had even gone to the lengths of removing his gun belt and hat before fighting, the dramatic sonofabitch. Of course, he’d always been more comfortable with a blade, so long as Goodnight had known him.

Kalliope stretched out and purred as Arcade’s body hit the dirt. Goodnight delicately removed her from his lap, depositing her back on the fencepost while he removed his hat and went around to collect their winnings.

All was well, until one young man, tall and a bit too drunk for the hour, decided to run his mouth.

“I ain’t in the habit of paying off cheaters,” he muttered sourly. “I’ll be keepin’ my money.”

Over on her fencepost, Kalliope perked up.

“Easy, Goodnight,” the older man beside him said, smarter than his companion. “He’s drunk. He don’t mean it.”

At the mention of his name, the young man’s eyes widened and he began stammering. “Mr. - Mr. Robicheaux, if I’d known that was your man, I’d’ve never made such a disrespectful comment - ”

He had much to learn, this boy. Goodnight could still remember when he’d been like that, young and brash and full of confidence. He’d been a damn idiot, and it had taken a lot of knocks for him to learn his lessons. Time to provide this young fellow with that same service.

“It’s all right, son, you just pay me double,” he said, favouring him with a gentle smile.

Kalliope hopped off the fencepost and trotted over to him as he continued moving along the line. Soon, he’d reached the two latecomers he’d noticed.

“Goodnight Robicheaux?” the bigger man asked. “Sam Chisolm sent us.”

Now, there was a name he hadn’t heard in a while. Goodnight turned to look at the man and his young companion. 

“Now, how did you run into Sam Chisolm?” he asked.

The man grinned at him. “Well, that’s a story that warrants sitting down for, I reckon.”

Goodnight grinned back. “I’ve got just the place.”

* * *

Vasquez emerged from the woods, snared rabbits draped over his shoulder, and paused. There were strange horses outside of his cabin, and a deer dæmon with impressive antlers.

‘His’. Vasquez snorted to himself. Well, the former resident had been dead when he got there, so he supposed that made it his now. His and Dalia’s, for all the good it would do them.

Silently, he set aside the rabbits and crept around to the far side of the cabin, keeping out of sight of the deer dæmon. His stomach let out a quiet growl, and he snarled internally.

He was so fucking hungry all the damn time, these days. Dalia looked truly wild, now, ribs visible through her matted fur. And he himself wasn’t much better. If his mama could see them now…

Cautiously, with the cat’s tread he’d learned well over the past few months, Vasquez crept up to the cabin. There was no sound, from either the horses or the dæmon.

He could hear two people inside, one with a far heavier tread than the other. Bounty hunters? They had to be. Who else would bother to track him all the way up here?

The sudden, feminine shriek surprised him. Who brought a woman after a man like him? And what was she doing screeching and giving away their position? But it was signal enough that Vasquez could put a plan together and execute it, no longer worried about the deer dæmon.

The woman went down hard, freezing for a moment when Dalia growled at her. After a few seconds, however, she began flailing for her gun, and he had to intervene. Her companion was still mostly in shadow, the shape of a bird dæmon evident on his shoulder.

There was a bellow from the deer dæmon, and Dalia whirled around to snarl at him. The stag lowered his antlers, but he wasn’t foolish enough to charge the coyote. Normally, a single coyote would be hard-pressed, taking down a stag all by their lonesome, but Vasquez and Dalia were too desperate to lose fights these days.

“The gun,” Vasquez snarled, “the gun!”

“Give it to him,” the woman’s companion, a black man in dark clothes, told her. She did so with ill grace. Her dæmon backed off slightly, but Dalia kept up a steady growl all the same.

“He was already dead, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Vasquz said, nodding at the corpse in the corner. 

“You been sleeping in here?”

“He don’t snore much.”

The warrant was a poor likeness, but that didn’t matter, not really. It was enough to chase him out of every town, away from every pocket of civilization he’d come across since he’d killed that ranger and gotten 500 fucking dollars put on his head.

The worst of it was he’d do it all again.

Still, the proposition offered by this odd warrant officer was intriguing. A black warrant officer and a white woman brimming with poorly-concealed fury. And a Mexican outlaw?

“And after our business is concluded?”

“There’ll still be a lot of men after you,” the warrant officer told him.

Vasquez raised an eyebrow. “And that should bring me comfort?”

“Should. I won’t be one of them.”

Both eyebrows went up, and he exchanged a look with Dalia. Her lips were still pulled back, but her ears were upright and interested now, no longer pinned back against her head.

Vasquez laughed. “You’re _loco_ , my friend,” he said, releasing the woman who gave him a filthy look as she scrambled to her feet. Her dæmon stomped past Dalia to offer her support.

But he was just as crazy, wasn’t he? After all, he was going with them.

He tossed the gun back to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the dæmons we've seen so far:
> 
> Emma Cullen and Abellio (white-tailed deer)  
> Matthew Cullen and Irene (mourning dove)  
> Faraday and Doireann "Ann" (black-tailed jackrabbit)  
> Chisolm and Hester (golden eagle)  
> Teddy Q and Kesiah (foxhound)  
> Goodnight and Kalliope (domestic cat (tuxedo))  
> Billy and Ji (mamushi pit viper)  
> Vasquez and Dalia (coyote)
> 
> sidenote: I totally forgot that Lee Scoresby's dæmon is named Hester, only to be watching His Dark Materials on the BBC a few months ago and go O.O, but by then Sam's dæmon was already Hester, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. Chapter 3

Billy watched these two newcomers warily as Goodnight got his shave and listened intently to their tale. Faraday was a cocky, reckless sort, but there was a reason for it. It wasn’t entirely false bravado and drink, though he could tell that played a role.

Ji shifted around his neck, scales sliding against his skin. She very rarely emerged from her spot beneath his bandana, except when he and Goody were in bed and she moved to Kalliope’s fur instead. 

He longed for the privacy to speak to her, to ask her what she thought of these two men. What she thought of Sam Chisolm’s proposal.

“You make your living off of his alley fights?” Teddy Q asked, glancing between Billy and Goody dubiously.

“Equal shares,” said Billy bluntly, pulling his cigarette from his mouth. “Between fights, Goody helps me navigate the white man’s prejudices.” He glanced up at Teddy Q, who looked faintly abashed.

“I keep him employed,” Goody jumped in, “and he keeps me on the level.”

Teddy Q was a sheltered sort, in way over his head and uncomfortable with his companion. Even if Faraday hadn’t said, Billy would’ve been able to tell that they hadn’t known each other long. He was even less comfortable with Goody and Billy.

Billy had little hope for this Rose Creek, if Teddy Q was the only one brave enough to go looking for help. Though it was little surprise he had a hound-dog for a dæmon; dogs were exactly the sort of dæmon Billy had come to expect from settlers, loyal, family-oriented things that they were.

But a hare, on the other hand…

Faraday was a man of hidden depths. Very hidden, Billy reflected, as the man in question threw back his head and half-drained his bottle with a laugh.

That evening, after leaving Volcano Springs behind and setting up camp, Billy finally had an opportunity to speak to Goodnight. Faraday and Teddy Q had long since gone to sleep, the former from drink and the latter from exhaustion.

Billy and Goody were sitting on a log, watching the coals burn, Ji a familiar weight around his neck and Kalliope curled up by Goody’s feet.

“Are you sure about this?” Billy asked lowly.

“Sam asked,” Goody said, but his voice was troubled. “And I owe him.”

“You don’t owe anyone,” He retorted. Ji shifted around his neck.

Goody looked up at him, Kalliope rising to twine between his legs. “I - I think I need to do this, Billy,” he said after a few moments.

Billy considered that for a moment. Considered everything that Goody wasn’t saying. His nightmares had been getting worse, it was hard to hide that from the person sharing your bed, and he’d been worse in the daytime too, constantly looking over his shoulder and clinging to Kalliope. Today, frankly, was the best he’d been in weeks.

“Alright.” Billy said eventually. “If you’re sure.”

“I am, cher, I am,” the way Goody leaned into him suggested otherwise, but he wouldn’t point it out. Ji slid out from under his collar and worked her way down his arm, sliding onto Goody’s and wrapping around his wrist. He immediately began stroking her scales.

Billy ignored the shudder of pleasure that went down his spine at the contact, and allowed Kalliope to jump up into his lap. He drew his palm down her back exactly the way she liked.

“Cher,” Goody whined into his shoulder.

“You started this,” Billy reminded him bluntly. He began scratching behind one of Kalliope’s ears, smirking as she began to purr and Goody trembled.

“We’ll wake up the boy,” he hissed. Teddy Q was the risk, after all - after as much as he’d drunk, Faraday wouldn’t wake if an earthquake struck.

“Then you’d better be quiet.”

* * *

When the four men rode up to their little camp on the outskirts of Junction City, Vasquez flicked his gaze over each of them. One, the youngest of the bunch, had a dog dæmon trotting along at his horse’s heels and immediately went to Mrs. Cullen - a follower, and of no consequence.

One, a white man whose face was lined with years, greeted Chisolm like an old friend, his cat dæmon leaping to his shoulder and then reaching out to bat playfully at Chisolm’s eagle. He was shadowed by an Asian man whose dæmon was nowhere to be seen, but that didn’t mean much. Some of the deadliest men Vasquez had ever known had dæmons small enough to hide in their breast pocket.

The fourth man was drunk, and after making an ass of himself nearly falling from his horse and telling Chisolm things he already knew, he began poking fun at Vasquez.

Plenty of white men had said stupid shit to him in the past, and half of them weren’t even drunk when they said it. Still, something about this _güero_ raised the hackles on Vasquez’s back, just as they raised Dalia’s.

A jackrabbit hopped down from the man’s horse and followed after him as he stumbled away.

“They’re not drunk,” Dalia said suddenly, hackles lowering and tone inquisitive.

“What?”

“Watch the dæmon,” she told him. He did, and realized she was right: while the man was stumbling around like he was seconds from kissing the ground, the jackrabbit hopped along behind him as steady as can be.

“Huh,” Vasquez murmured, annoyance morphing into intrigue. 

These new companions were strange indeed.

* * *

Jack Horne and his wolf were more terrifying than they had any right to be. But there was something sad, too, about seeing what losing everything - love, family, purpose - did to a man and his dæmon. Faraday had never had all that much to lose in his life. Seeing Jack Horne, he was almost glad of it.

Faraday had grown up hearing stories of the legendary Jack Horne, the man who'd killed three hundred Crow. If he'd been asked what he'd expected, he would've said a giant, a rugged survivor, the sort of man who knew exactly who he was and exactly what he was supposed to be doing. The reality was a bizarre hybrid, dressed the part of a mountain man but confused and with a strange, high voice. His dæmon was a wolf that looked just as wild but in all the wrong ways. If it hadn’t been a dæmon, Faraday would’ve reached for his gun.

“Now, I’ve got a right, by the Lord and by the law, to take back what belongs to me,” Horne declared in his high, gasping voice.

Faraday couldn’t even tell if he’d heard a thing Chisolm’d said. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. The legend Jack Horne would’ve been an asset to their little quest. The reality… he wasn’t sure.

“Are we in agreement?” asked Horne.

No one was willing to argue with a man and wolf who had just ravaged two people in front of them. Teddy Q and his dæmon looked particularly spooked.

Faraday couldn’t help flinching when Horne met his eyes directly. There was something deeply unsettling about the man, and from the way Ann pressed into his calf, the dæmon wasn’t much better.

Horne and his dæmon didn’t seem particularly interested in Chisolm’s offer, and nobody in their motley group aside from Chisolm looked all that sorry to see him go.

“I do believe that bear was wearing people’s clothes,” Faraday said as the man and dæmon walked off, to lighten the mood more than anything. 

Horne might’ve looked like a bear, but his dæmon said that that wasn't who he was. Jack Horne was a wolf, and now he was a wolf without a pack.

* * *

Jack was having trouble keeping track of his thoughts. The situation was certainly not improved by his being bashed in the head by a rock and tossed over the side of a cliff, but even before his unfortunate encounter with those boys, he’d noticed himself slipping.

He could remember events from decades ago with crystal clarity, yet what he’d eaten for breakfast the previous day was an utter mystery.

_It had been a long few days of hunting, but Jack and Poppy had brought down a deer in the end, along with several rabbits and weasels from his snares. Man and dæmon trudged through the heavy snow, bounty tied to a sledge Jack towed behind him._

_When his home came into sight, Jack could feel a weight rising from his shoulders. He couldn’t wait to see his wife, his children, spend an evening with them in the warmth and welcome of their home. And tomorrow was Sunday. The snow was coming down too heavy for church to be a possibility, but they could have a little service of their own, out of his father’s prayerbook._

_The first inkling Jack had that something was wrong was the absence of smoke from the chimney. He glanced down at Poppy._

_“No firewood?” she offered, though her tone was suspicious._

_“Come on,” said Jack. With a renewed sense of urgency he pulled the sledge the last few meters to the relative shelter of the large pine that shadowed his home._

_The sight that met him when he entered was one he would never forget._

_The blood was beginning to turn tacky and dark, sticking to Jack’s boots and trousers and reddening again as it mingled with melting snow. He fell to his knees beside the body of Anne, cold and hard and lifeless. There was no sign of her dæmon - Solomon had long turned to dust._

_Poppy howled as she came upon the bodies of the children, huddled together in a cold pile. The absence of their own dæmons, too young to have even settled, was sign enough, even without the blood soaking their clothes._

_His family was gone._

Jack blinked, and looked down. Poppy’s teeth were pinching his thigh, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to draw him back. She released him once she saw him looking down at her.

“Are you with me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied, after a moment. “Yes, I am.”

“It’s getting worse,” she said.

He nodded slowly. His head ached. “Yes.”

“What are we going to do?”

A large pine tree appeared over the crest of the next hill. Jack aimed for it and sat down heavily under its boughs. 

Poppy nudged him until he took a sip of water.

“Jack? What are we going to do?”

Chisholm had called him a good man. Had asked for his help. What could a lawman want with a broken old killer like him? That boy had been right, after all: he’d been out of work for a while. A hunter with nothing to hunt… a wolf without a pack…

Poppy’s teeth brought him back again.

“Jack. Focus.”

“I’m trying,” he said plaintively.

“Read your Bible,” she admonished. “Read and think.”

Jack took his soul’s advice, pulled out his Bible, and opened it to a passage at random.

_Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink…. Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them._

Do not be anxious, Jack repeated to himself. 

_Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow,_ the verse concluded, _for tomorrow will be anxious for itself..._

He closed his Bible.

“Well?” asked Poppy.

“I want to follow them.” Jack declared.

She didn’t need to ask who.

* * *

Watching Faraday hustle young Teddy Q out of his whiskey was about all the entertainment Goodnight could’ve expected for that evening. They were deep in Indian country now, and though he was a better man now than he once was, his skin still crawled every so often. Part of him wished he was alone with Billy, just them and Kalliope and Ji beneath the stars.

“So what’s the play here, Sam?” he asked, settling himself down beside the man. Kalliope curled up beside him, and Hester gave him a look out of the corner of her eye.

“Everything they have,” Sam said slowly, “that’s what they offered.”

“Everything they have,” Goodnight repeated. He watched Mrs. Cullen across the fire, who, having welcomed Teddy Q back, was now glaring up at Faraday, who appeared entirely unrepentant. “She’s about the age your sister’d be by now.”

“Yeah, she is.” Sam gave him a look, and Hester’s beak clicked.

“Just making sure we’re fighting the battle in front of us, not behind us,” Goodnight said lowly. He knew all about fighting past battles, but his were of a different kind than Sam’s. 

As soon as Faraday had mentioned Bartholomew Bogue, he’d had his suspicions about Sam’s motivations. He was probably the only person alive who knew about the history between the two of them, inasmuch as it could be called history. 

Sam’s family had been the collateral damage to one of Bogue’s projects, a long time ago in Kansas. Mother and sisters and friends, raped and murdered by men in Bogue’s employ, much the same way as the people of Rose Creek were suffering now.

Goodnight couldn’t help but wonder, even as he left Sam alone and settled down for the night near Billy, if it was really Emma Cullen Sam was recruiting them to fight for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Pullman's books, it's considered extremely taboo to touch another person's dæmon, and most people generally avoid it even in fights. he describes having one's dæmon touched by others as an incredibly violating and repulsive experience, with one exception: between lovers, touching the other's dæmon is a gesture of love and trust.
> 
> the dæmons we've seen so far:
> 
> Emma Cullen and Abellio (white-tailed deer)  
> Matthew Cullen and Irene (mourning dove)  
> Faraday and Doireann "Ann" (black-tailed jackrabbit)  
> Chisolm and Hester (golden eagle)  
> Teddy Q and Kesiah (foxhound)  
> Goodnight and Kalliope (domestic cat (tuxedo))  
> Billy and Ji (mamushi pit viper)  
> Vasquez and Dalia (coyote)  
> Horne and Poppy (gray wolf)
> 
> the Bible passage Horne reads is Matthew 6:25-34


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the gang's all here at last!

Red Harvest was familiar with being alone. Even as a child, he had wandered away constantly, always hunting for something new and exciting. His parents would scold and chastise him for worrying them, but his older sister would always gather him up after and whisper reassurances in his ear. She'd understood the need to explore that drove him, even then.

"I always knew you were born to wander," she'd told him, the night M ~~u~~ a had settled and he had become a man. "You will be a great warrior, a great hunter, and a great wanderer."

"Not without you," he'd protested.

She'd only smiled, her butterfly dæmon fluttering around them.

It wasn't until after she'd died that the elders had come to him, told him that his path was different from the rest of the tribe, and suggested that he and M ~~u~~ a move on.

So they had.

Life without the rest of their people was not much different from life with them, for Red. They had often been alone, hunting and scouting, out in the wilderness for weeks at a time. Now, there was nothing for them to do except hunt.

Being alone was comfortable for Red and his dæmon, but it was boring. He blamed the boredom for his noticing the tracks at all.

Several horses had passed through, all of them shoed and travelling slowly. Someone else, also on horseback, had been following them. A few of the tracks in the dirt looked canine, probably from dæmons. All of the tracks were a few hours old, at least. Night had fallen by then, but whoever had left the trail would’ve been travelling under the sun.

Red exchanged a look with his soul. “What do you think?”

“It’s interesting,” offered M ~~u~~ a, ears flicking. “And I’m bored.”

So was Red. 

They followed the trail slowly, stopping for a few hours to rest in a shallow cave. Just before the sun rose, M ~~u~~ a smelt a deer and woke them both up.

Red crept out of the cave, bow held loosely in front of him, to see if the deer was still there.

"Just over the crest," M ~~u~~ a whispered, paws soundless against the pebbles.

They silently moved forward and looked over the crest. As she'd said, there the deer was, grazing alongside their horse, apparently unruffled to be sharing its meal.

Many men wouldn't risk shooting at a deer so close to their own mount. Red was not most men.

His horse startled as the deer let out an alarm cry, stumbling only a few feet before it went down to the ground. Red slid down the bank, drawing his knife in preparation to finish the kill, but it was unnecessary. By the time he reached the body, the deer was already dead.

"Well done," said M ~~u~~ a approvingly.

Red snorted. It was the work of a few minutes to bind the deer's ankles together and sling it over the back of his horse, who had quickly recovered from its surprise and was already back to grazing.

"Not dressing it?"

"It'll keep," he said as he mounted. "I want to follow that trail."

Dawn had broken and the deer had gone stiff by the time they came across the camp. He felt the faint stirrings of amusement as the white people - not entirely accurate, at least some of them were not-white, which was intriguing - scrambled to defend themselves against him. 

Finding settlers at the end of a trail of shoed horses was not a surprising outcome. Being addressed in his own language by their apparent leader, a man whose skin was darker than Red’s own -

Now that was possibly the most interesting thing that had happened to Red in some time.

“You speak _N_ ~~ _u_~~ _m_ ~~ _u_~~ _tekwap_ ~~ _u_ ~~ ?” he asked, as the man in black approached.

“Some. You speak white man’s English?”

Red’s lip quirked as M ~~u~~ a sniffed. “Some.”

He flicked his gaze over the man in black and his companions, taking in the disparate people and their souls. A wolf, a stag, a coyote… these people were preparing to go to war, it seemed. What else could’ve brought such mismatched companions together?

“We go to fight wicked men,” the man in black confirmed, his soul perched on his shoulder. An eagle. This man, at least, was noble. “Probably, we all die.”

And realistic.

There had been a question, an offer, hidden in the man in black’s words. Internally, Red raised a brow, though no hint of emotion showed on his face. These people were desperate, if they were so willing to turn a potential enemy into an ally.

He exchanged a look with M ~~u~~ a, and then drew his knife and sliced open the belly of his deer, withdrawing the liver to offer to the man in black. A question of his own, as well as an answer.

The man in black took a large bite without flinching before handing it back, though Red took his own private amusement from the not-quite-hidden disgust in his face.

This all promised to be very interesting. And Red was tired of being bored. 

* * *

Red Harvest and his lynx dæmon were an unlikely seventh to add to their band, but between them and Jack Horne Chisolm seemed content to press on for Rose Creek.

As they rode, Chisolm interrogated Mrs. Cullen and Teddy Q, asking about sightlines, places to hide, the numbers of men they were likely to face and what sort of men they’d be.

“Sheriff Harp’s a coward, he won’t cause you much trouble,” Mrs. Cullen said, expression twisting at the mention of the sheriff. 

“When we left, McCann and Moody were the fellas in charge of the Blackstones,” said Teddy Q, glancing anxiously at Mrs. Cullen. “They’re…”

“Followers,” said Mrs. Cullen.

Vasquez didn’t pay much attention to the discussion. He got his bounty killing a lawman, after all, and he didn’t expect these men to be any harder to kill than the ranger was. Dalia loped along at his side, quiet as ever, but her ears were pricked and her eyes alert. If he missed anything important, she’d catch him up later.

The plan, such as it was, was for Chisolm and Billy Rocks to go in alone, to draw out the sheriff and the lead Blackstones while giving the townsfolk plenty of time to take cover. The rest of them were to enter the town quietly and stealthily, taking up positions along the main street while Red Harvest went up high to disable any snipers. At Chisolm’s signal, they’d take out the twenty-odd Blackstone agents in Rose Creek.

Vasquez was somewhat skeptical, of both the men and the plan, but then he was a dead man walking. The only choice he had left in his life was how he was going to die, and he supposed there were worse ways than fighting for the liberation of a town.

And he was going to get to kill people, which was a bonus.

Dalia danced a little by his side. Too many of their fights these days had been brutal, desperate things, sprung on them unexpectedly and leaving no room for anything but reaction. It had been a long time since he’d had the chance to feel the excitement and anticipation build up in his belly, making his fingers play over his guns.

He took up his position in the alley beside the mine office, waiting for Chisolm’s signal to move into the light. From his position he could just barely see Robicheaux, dæmon resting at his feet, waiting for his own signal. He had a clearer view of Faraday who was waiting on the porch outside of the hotel. His dæmon was practically dancing, hopping from foot to foot, looking as eager as the man himself.

Vasquez grinned. It was good to know he wasn’t the only one hungry for a fight.

The confrontation went just about exactly as Chisolm said it would. The Blackstones demanded his gun, and Chisolm complied happily right up until he didn't. Vasquez stepped out on cue, and then waited for several long, tense minutes for the tinder to catch.

There was a sudden explosion of violence. Four shots from Chisolm’s gun found four bodies, as his dæmon dove with a cry at one of the Blackstones’ lizard dæmon. 

Vasquez took his own shots, grinning fiercely and barely noticing when Dalia tore the throat out of another dæmon, the wolf dissolving into golden dust.

He spent a brief moment in the center of the street, back to back with Faraday, who had a grin on his face to match the one on his own. 

Their dæmons were racing around, Faraday’s jackrabbit tripping up the dogs and wolves that made up most of the Blackstones’ dæmons, letting Dalia get her teeth into them. Two brutally efficient teams, dæmons and men both.

The battle was soon over, and there was nothing left for them to do but watch as Chisolm gave the town sheriff, whose dæmon was nowhere to be seen, a cryptic message for Bogue. Vasquez’s brow furrowed. There was a story in that, but he didn't know enough to put the pieces together.

Then Mrs. Cullen and Teddy Q rode into town, dæmons galloping behind them, shouting for the other townspeople to come out.

Slowly they did, and Vasquez wasn’t shocked by what he saw: dogs and cats and livestock, the occasional songbird or squirrel or rabbit. A few of the dæmons stood out, even if their people didn’t: a young woman with a large owl perched on her shoulder, a wiry man with a massive bison lumbering along behind him. 

These were settlers, yes, but they were not fighters, and Vasquez wasn’t exactly surprised when some of them expressed reservations about the ragtag group Mrs. Cullen had gathered together.

Vasquez rested his hand on Dalia’s ruff and waited while Chisolm attempted to rally the townspeople. Some of them would leave, he could already tell, but hopefully enough stayed to fight that the coming battle wasn’t over before it had even begun.

* * *

There was a certain novelty to sitting in a saloon, being waited on, though the quality of the food in front of him lowered Red’s amusement with the situation considerably. The rest of his companions were eating it, but he wasn’t entirely sure how. There was nothing on that plate that Red wanted to put into his mouth.

It was a shame that his deer had been eaten on the trail. Real food would have been nice.

Chisolm had apparently not passed on the knowledge that Red understood English to the rest of the group. Not that it would’ve helped him much with Robicheaux. Red took comfort from the fact that even Faraday was having trouble understanding that man's words. He half-listened to their conversations as his stomach rumbled, and M ~~u~~ a brushed against his calf. 

“White people’s food is for dogs,” he commented aloud in _N_ ~~ _u_~~ _m_ ~~ _u_ ~~ _tekwap_ ~~ _u_ ~~, though no one except Chisolm understood him. 

Horne turned and looked at him. “What’d he say?” he asked Chisolm.

“He asked that you kindly stop staring at his hairline,” answered Chisolm, through a mouthful of food. 

“I will,” said Horne agreeably, “as long as he stops licking his lips over mine.”

The rest of the group’s laughter disguised M ~~u~~ a’s faint growl, though Red could muster up little more than faint annoyance. Large words, from a man who had killed so many.

Once the others had left for their rooms, Red slipped up to the roof and pulled out his last bit of pemmican. 

“Why are we still here?” M ~~u~~ a asked, as he chewed on the pemmican and watched the stars. 

Red shrugged. “Why not?”

“They insult us when they think we can’t understand them,” she reminded him, a hint of a growl in her voice. “Act like we’re dangerous.”

“We are,” he retorted, “and they’re white people, mostly. What do you expect?”

Expecting anything from white people was foolish. Red had learned that a long time ago. Not all of his companions were white, true, but they were settlers all the same. 

“We can still leave later if we want to,” he said, “but I want to see what happens next.”

The elders had said his path was different. Red wondered if this was what they had meant.

* * *

Sam couldn’t say he was surprised at the number of people who packed up their wagons and left, though it was disheartening. Hester muttered something unkind in his ear, about cowards, and he clicked his tongue.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with valuing your life above your land,” he told her.

“And do they think leaving will make their lives better?” she retorted, until footsteps behind them had her quieting down.

“Suppose that undertaker’ll get some business out of this, at least,” Faraday commented, as he leaned up against a post.

Sam still wasn’t sure what to make of the man and his unusual dæmon. He’d seen how quick they could be in a fight; they’d made a deadly combination with Vasquez earlier. Yet Faraday spent half his time drinking and the other half irritating and picking at those around him. 

And then there was the problem of Goody. Hester had noticed his faltering during the fight, and Sam had noticed how wide-eyed and unsteady he’d been afterwards. It was worrying; he’d been counting on Goody’s aim for this thing.

“Fancy coming all this way,” the man in question remarked, “only to have the good people of Rose Creek run away and leave us to die.”

“Some people have died for much less,” Horne said. He and his dæmon had steadied down some since that morning, but Sam was worried about them as well.

He snorted. There wasn’t one of them he could honestly say he wasn’t worried about, at least a little.

He turned away and went back into the boardinghouse. It was a shame more people hadn’t stayed, but there was no use in mourning might-have-beens. He needed to figure out how to take what they had and turn it into an army fit to fight Bogue’s.

* * *

By mid-afternoon, Faraday felt bored and restless enough to wander over to where Goodnight had taken over the weapons training for those men of Rose Creek who owned guns. Based on his own experiences last night, Faraday did not have high hopes for the lot. It seemed ominously likely that any man with real skill with a weapon had already been killed off by Bogue and his goons, leaving behind only those too old or inept to be any threat.

Still, he’d been expecting at least one of them to hit at least one of the targets.

“Jesus wept,” he muttered, as Ann snickered.

“Reload!” bellowed Goodnight.

“Statistically speaking,” said Faraday to Chisolm, “they should’ve hit something.”

Chisolm’s dæmon turned, pinning him with one golden eye, though neither she nor Chisolm responded otherwise. Still, if Faraday had to guess from the man's downturned mouth and narrowed gaze, he agreed with his assessment.

Goodnight was laying into the men, irritation leaking from his tight shoulders and harsh words. On the fencepost behind him, his dæmon had started sharpening her claws on the battered wood.

“I ain’t shunning a damn thing, sir,” snapped Teddy Q, who had apparently begun to grow a spine. Faraday grinned as Goodnight’s dæmon abruptly turned around, stalking over to her other half, as the man in question bore down on Teddy Q.

Fortunately, some other idiot in the line set his gun off early, provoking another snicker from Ann and distracting Goodnight from Teddy Q’s sass. Teddy's foxhound visibly sighed in relief.

Faraday settled back with his cigar and listened with half an ear as Goodnight let out his inner drill sergeant. It was clear he understood the business of shooting, what it meant to have a man in your sights and pull the trigger. What Faraday wanted to see was if the so-called Angel of Death still had it in him to do it himself.

As yet another round of firing resulted in a lot of smoke and coughing and not much else, Faraday took his cue and retrieved the weapon left behind by the trigger-happy idiot earlier. 

“These men need inspiration,” he declared, striding forward with Ann on his heels, shoving the rifle into Goodnight’s chest. “You are Goodnight Robicheaux, after all. Ain’tcha?”

Making excuses about needing the lead was all well and good, but Faraday wanted to see the proof of that legendary aim. He wanted proof that Goodnight Robicheaux could handle a weapon. Proof that he really was what all those stories made him out to be. Ann thumped her foot against the dirt, ignoring the threatening hiss from Goodnight’s dæmon, while Faraday pushed.

“He’s a legend,” he told the assembled men, before turning back to Goodnight and lowering his voice. “Or is that all you are?”

Goodnight hesitated, looking nervously between the rifle, Faraday, and over his shoulder, presumably at Chisolm. Whatever he saw in Chisolm’s face did not reassure him. He swallowed roughly and took the gun shoved into his chest.

Six shots later, and the dummy’s head was dangling by a few splinters of wood. Goodnight threw the rifle back at Faraday and strode away, dæmon following close at his heels, while the men let out cheers and awed exclamations. 

Faraday met Chisolm’s gaze, and saw something like the same concern he felt in his eyes. The eagle was preoccupied watching Goodnight’s retreating back, and Ann’s thumping had turned nervous.

The stories were true. The aim was still there. It seemed that the Angel of Death just couldn’t fire on anyone still living.

* * *

Billy had gone looking for the men who'd left his knife lesson, Ji hissing in righteous indignation at his throat, only to catch a glimpse of Goody's attempts to teach some of the townspeople how to shoot.

He'd seen actual children shoot better.

Suddenly, tracking down the men who'd left his lesson no longer seemed wise. In Billy's opinion, guns were easier than knives. It didn't take much skill to use a gun, though apparently it required more skill than the men of Rose Creek were capable of.

Goody was in high dudgeon and Billy had no interest in putting himself in his lover's line of fire. Part of a good relationship was knowing when to stay the hell away.

With that in mind, Billy made his way to the stables to check up on his horse. While he certainly didn't baby his gelding the way Goody doted on his mare, he could admit to sneaking the occasional apple or bit of bread to his mount.

A wise man kept himself in his horse's good graces, after all.

The stables weren't empty of people, however. Red Harvest was standing in front of one of the stalls, patting his horse on the nose and speaking softly in Comanche. His lynx bumped into his leg at Billy's entrance.

Billy held up his hands and headed for his own horse. Ji shifted around his neck, and he reached up to adjust his bandana.

As he handed over the bit of bread he'd kept from breakfast to the eager gelding, a quiet sound alerted him to movement. He looked up and nearly flinched at Red Harvest's sudden proximity.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

Red Harvest looked at him consideringly, and then said, "Show me how you use your knives."

Billy blinked.

"You speak English?"

A single dark eyebrow raised. "You speak English," Red Harvest retorted.

Fair enough, thought Billy.

"The others don't know," he said slowly.

One corner of Red Harvest's mouth quirked up. Ji hissed quietly, and Billy smirked.

"Okay."

They returned to the dummies Billy had set up for his former students. Unlike them, Red already knew how to use a knife, and had decent aim, which was more than Billy could say for most of Rose Creek.

Neither Red nor his dæmon spoke much, but that didn't bother Billy. There was something to be said for silence.

Red was a quick study. He watched Billy keenly as he demonstrated how to throw the knives, and within a few attempts was consistently hitting the target. With practice, he'd rival Billy for accuracy, though Billy didn't see him ever giving up his bow.

They wrapped up the lesson, as it were, by shredding the two dummies into little more than sawdust and shreds of burlap. Red's dæmon let out a pleased purr as she dragged her claws down the battle-scarred post left behind.

"Congratulations," Billy said dryly, holstering his knives, "you're my best student."

Red gave him an equally dry look. "Thanks."

That evening, as Red stared blankly at Faraday while the other man tried to get a rise out of him, Billy found himself grinning enough for Goody to comment on it.

"What's so funny, Billy?"

"Faraday," he answered, unwilling to spoil Red's fun, even for Goody.

Goody snorted. "That boy oughta have had a bull for a dæmon, with his head," he commented, to a quiet snicker from Kalliope.

Billy caught Red's gaze over Faraday's shoulder. The other man's expression was as blank as ever, but Billy swore he could see amusement buried deep.

"Yeah, something like that." he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i found red's pov very difficult to write, and I'm still anxious about it, so please let me know what you think!
> 
> the dæmons we've seen so far:
> 
> Emma Cullen and Abellio (white-tailed deer)  
> Matthew Cullen and Irene (mourning dove)  
> Faraday and Doireann "Ann" (black-tailed jackrabbit)  
> Chisolm and Hester (golden eagle)  
> Teddy Q and Kesiah (foxhound)  
> Goodnight and Kalliope (domestic cat (tuxedo))  
> Billy and Ji (mamushi pit viper)  
> Vasquez and Dalia (coyote)  
> Horne and Poppy (gray wolf)  
> Red Harvest and M ~~u~~ a (Canada lynx)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't update yesterday, so today you get two chapters!

Liberating the mine of its workers and its explosives was a simple matter, in the end. Shots from a distance to pick off the few overseers left behind, and then the seven of them rode into the mine itself, easy as anything.

Even if any of the men here were inclined to put up a fight, none of them appeared capable of doing so. They were all far too thin, many sporting obvious wounds, dæmons dragging their feet behind them. Ann pressed her body into Faraday's hip, ears flattening down at the sight of a dog dæmon so weak it dragged its hind legs behind it.

Faraday had trouble imagining how anyone could stomach living and working in these conditions. Bogue couldn’t be paying them more than pennies. Were they criminals, he wondered as he rode past the prominently-displayed noose in the center of the mine. It would explain why they were being treated so poorly and yet were apparently unwilling to stand up for themselves.

Everyone had heard the stories of what could happen to a man and his dæmon if found guilty of a crime. The noose was not the only thing one must fear.

Wild Jack snorted and pranced sideways; he’d nearly run into Vasquez’s mare. Horse, man, and dæmon stood motionless, Vasquez and his coyote’s gazes fixed upon the noose.

Five hundred dollars, Faraday suddenly remembered. That was the price on Vasquez’s head. The noose could never be far from his thoughts - nor the other, crueler punishments that might be devised.

“Should we get on with what we came here for?” he said loudly, not looking at Vasquez as he walked Jack past him.

“Ah, _si, güero,_ ” Vasquez said, startling and kicking his mare into movement once more. “I would hate to keep you from your drink for too long.”

“Ha!” barked Faraday, pulling out a bottle of whiskey from one of his saddlebags. “Always prepared, that’s me.” He took a hearty swig before offering the bottle to Vasquez.

Unexpectedly, the other man accepted the offer, taking a long drink of his own before handing the bottle back. “ _Gracias_.”

“Eh, no problem, muchacho,” Faraday said, tucking the bottle away and directing Jack towards the building the rest of the seven had gathered around. “This place is grim; better to face it with something warm in your belly.”

“ _Si,_ ” Vasquez said quietly, eyes drifting back to the noose once more before he shook his head and refocused on the task at hand.

There was a lot of dynamite in the mine camp. Faraday grinned as he looked at the stacks and stacks of crates.

“I’ve always wanted to blow something up.”

* * *

Vasquez found himself watching Faraday during their planning session, the seven of them gathered around a table in the saloon. The other man was a mess of contradictions - mocking and irritating one minute, surprisingly solicitous the next, not to mention his dæmon - and Vasquez had no idea what to make of him. It made for an intriguing puzzle, as they passed the time planning their probable deaths.

He let his hand rest in Dalia’s ruff as Chisolm outlined his plan. It was a good plan, one they’d all worked on earlier that day, walking through the town to figure out sightlines, choke points, sniper’s perches. It was all a bit alien to Vasquez, who had never fought in a war, but listening to Chisolm, Horne, and Robicheaux, he thought he understood the goal. 

Misdirection and deceit. Outsmarting the enemy, because they sure as hell weren't going to be outgunning them.

“Now, whatever happens, Bogue can’t leave,” said Chisolm firmly. His dæmon, perched on his shoulder as always, eyed each of them in turn.

Faraday frowned. “How do we know Bogue’s even gonna show?” he asked. Vasquez glanced down and caught the other man’s dæmon rapping her foot against the floor like a drumbeat.

“He’ll show,” Chisolm assured them. He finished laying out the rest of the plan, and then said, “Worst case scenario, all is lost, we blow the mine.”

Vasquez shrugged and nodded. He’d spent months living one day to the next, he was just happy to be able to sit in a saloon in broad daylight without having to worry about one of his companions shooting him in the back. Knowing where his next meal was coming from was nice, too.

Dalia pressed into his leg. She was still skin and bones, but a few decent meals didn't make up for months of near-starvation.

Mrs. Cullen interrupted and began arguing with Chisolm, so Vasquez leaned back in his seat and made eye contact with Faraday, who looked deliberately across the table at Chisolm and the good widow before grinning.

“What, _güero_?” Vasquez asked, grinning to himself when Faraday scowled at him for the nickname. 

“She’ll get her way,” the other man declared in a hushed voice. 

“Oh?”

Faraday nodded as his dæmon hopped close enough to be within reach of Dalia’s tail. “Women like her usually do.”

“You like her, eh?”

Faraday laughed as Mrs. Cullen strode away, her back straight and proud despite her anger. Her dæmon followed behind her, head held tall to match. “Not my type exactly, but I’ve liked plenty of women in my day.”

Vasquez wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.

* * *

When Chisolm had made the suggestion for him to ride out as the forward scout, Red wasn’t surprised. He and M ~~u~~ a were the best suited to the task, after all, and he still made the white people of Rose Creek nervous. Better to have him out and away from anxious eyes.

His initial feeling, that this mismatched group could be interesting, had borne out. That first fight had been one of the most exciting days Red had had since leaving his people. He and M ~~u~~ a had always felt a sort of fierce pride in battle, in testing themselves against their enemies and proving themselves superior. Having allies changed things, and Red was beginning to think that they did so for the better.

Not everything in Rose Creek had been good, however. Many of the white people still watched them with suspicion, and their food was shit. He’d been living off of dried buffalo meat and berries, and the occasional rabbit, for days now.

The feeling of being trapped was unpleasant as well. Red and his soul were wanderers at heart, solitary hunters who loved their freedom. The sense of being confined to a single place had started wearing on him; Chisolm’s offer had arrived at a good time.

His horse’s hooves pounded against the earth. They would need to ride hard to make it out to the approaching army and back in time to warn Rose Creek, but Red knew his horse’s limits well. 

They followed the sun’s path west, keeping to even ground and sticking close to the river. There would be many men, dæmons, and horses coming, and only so many paths they could take. 

Red had been warned that this Bogue had a _Nʉmʉnʉʉ_ warrior on his side, who would act as their guide. With that knowledge in mind, he followed the trail he himself would take, were he the one guiding an army east.

“Are you certain of our course?” M ~~u~~ a asked that night, as he let his horse rest and drink. “This is not our war.”

Red considered. Setting aside his own curiosity and boredom, they had little reason to fight for the people of Rose Creek. And yet…

The people at the mine haunted him. He had seen prisoners of war treated better, slaves treated better, than those men had been. 

“The mine,” he said slowly, knowing that she would understand what he meant.

“Those weren’t our people.” 

“They could’ve been,” he pointed out. If some people had their way, every man, woman, and child of the _Nʉmʉnʉʉ_ alive today would be like those men at the mine, stripped of everything that made life worth living. 

She padded closer, and bumped her head into his knee. “So you are certain?”

“The elders said our path is different,” he reminded her. “Perhaps this is what they meant.”

Red had spent a lot of time wondering about their path, since leaving their people. Had spent a lot of time feeling aimless and incomplete. Whatever the annoyances Rose Creek had brought, he could not deny that it had also brought him purpose and excitement.

And some of his companions were almost amusing.

“If this is our path, then we should continue on,” said M ~~u~~ a. “We have an army to find.”

An army to find, and a war to fight. Red couldn’t wait.

* * *

The owl started hunting him again halfway through the week. Goody could feel its eyes watching him as he helped to dig trenches and pile sandbags, found himself flinching at every sudden movement that passed him by.

Kalli took to puffing herself up and hissing at people who drew too close, even as she tried to assure him that they were safe now.

“We’re never safe,” Goody hissed at her. “Not from it.”

Kalli opened her mouth and then shut it. Her ear flicked back, and Billy rounded the corner into the alley they’d ducked into.

“Alright?” Billy asked, a flash of scales visible at his throat. 

“I’m right as rain, cher,” replied Goody, only to receive an unimpressed eyebrow in return. Kalli wrinkled her nose at him and turned away, primly flouncing off towards Billy. 

“We’ll talk about this later,” said Billy, still giving him a look.

That evening in the saloon, Goody tried to talk to Billy about it. He didn’t understand what the owl was like, though, thought it was just another night terror. Goody wished sometimes that Billy could just see it, understand - but then he always caught himself. Billy could do so much better than a washed-up ex-sniper whose hands were too shaky to hold a gun. Seeing the owl would be the straw that broke the camel’s back and finally sent him fleeing off to greener pastures.

Kalli was curled up in Goody’s lap as they drank and smoked, her weight grounding but not quite enough. Ji had brushed over the back of his hand earlier, but anything more was impossible in a room this crowded. The opium was starting to kick in, however, bringing down Goody’s pounding heart and racing thoughts. He could think a little straighter now.

Across the table, Faraday and Vasquez were grinning and sniping at each other the same way they had been since they’d met. Under the table, their dæmons were roughhousing together as much as a jackrabbit and a coyote could. Goody wouldn’t think much of it except boys being boys, if it wasn’t for the way the two men eyed each other when the other wasn’t looking.

Goody snickered to himself, ignoring the look it earned him from Billy. It just figured Chisolm would put together a band half made up of mollies.

Kalliope hissed from his lap as the dæmons came perilously close to his legs, and Horne finally put his foot down.

“If you boys can’t settle down now, you ought to go outside,” he said, his own dæmon looking longsuffering from her seat beside him. “You’re liable to bump into someone like this.”

“Ah, sorry,” said Faraday, mellower than usual with a full belly and a full glass. Vasquez echoed him, and the dæmons under the table settled down, though Goody could faintly hear them muttering. Kalli sniffed and tucked her head back down.

Later, the opium and good-humour began to fade, and Goody found himself staring at the ceiling of their room, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. The owl lurked just outside the window, but if he pretended it wasn’t there maybe it would go away - 

“Goody?” 

Billy’s face appeared in his vision, and Goody swallowed roughly, digging his fingers into Kalli’s fur.

“Close the curtain, would you, Billy?”

There was a rustle across the room as he obeyed, and Goody gradually began to relax.

“Goody,” Billy said again, sitting down on the other side of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, closing his eyes and fighting back the lump in his throat. He’d thought he’d been doing better, he really had. But ever since that first night things had been turning dark again, and he didn’t know how much more he could take. When he opened his eyes and looked back up at the ceiling boards, they had gone blurry with tears.

“Do you need another?” Billy asked, reaching for their ever-dwindling bundle of opium cigarettes.

Goody shook his head, paused, and then nodded. The dead didn’t need opium, after all. He took a long drag, blinked, and prayed for a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the dæmons we've seen so far:
> 
> Emma Cullen and Abellio (white-tailed deer)  
> Matthew Cullen and Irene (mourning dove)  
> Faraday and Doireann "Ann" (black-tailed jackrabbit)  
> Chisolm and Hester (golden eagle)  
> Teddy Q and Kesiah (foxhound)  
> Goodnight and Kalliope (domestic cat (tuxedo))  
> Billy and Ji (mamushi pit viper)  
> Vasquez and Dalia (coyote)  
> Horne and Poppy (gray wolf)  
> Red Harvest and M ~~u~~ a (Canada lynx)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the second of today's chapters
> 
> the big battle is almost here...

Night had fallen, and Sam’s thoughts had similarly taken a turn for the dark. He’d argued with Hester again about holding onto his anger about Bogue, and she was now perched in the eaves of the roof, as far away as she could get without hurting them. 

He fingered the scar on his throat, still safely hidden under his bandana, and pondered Mrs. Cullen’s words back in Amador City.

_ I seek righteousness, as we all should, but I’ll take revenge. _

Was there a difference, he wondered.

“Evening, Mr. Chisolm.”

He looked over his shoulder and found the preacher standing there, arm still in its sling, squirrel dæmon perched on the man’s shoulder in much the same manner Hester usually was on his own.

“Preacher,” he greeted him, keeping his voice low. There was plenty of laughter and voices echoing up from the saloon, but outside in the night air there was a certain quietness. 

“It’s a beautiful night,” the Irishman commented, gazing out over the town.

Sam nodded. “It is.”

“I just wanted to take a moment to come up here and thank you,” said the preacher, “for everything you’ve done for us.”

A twinge of guilt found its way into his throat. He could only nod as the preacher continued. 

“It’s been a long while since we’ve been able to enjoy an evening like tonight,” he said. “Before you and your men arrived, all of our everyday pleasures had been taken from us.” 

Hester’s talons dug into the meat of Sam’s shoulder as she flew down from the eaves, noticing his discomfort. The preacher, however, didn’t flinch.

“It might not mean that much to you, but by God, we’re all eternally grateful,” he said, meeting Sam’s gaze. The naked sincerity and gratitude there was enough to make anyone feel guilty, much less him.

“More than you know, preacher.”

* * *

Jack jerked awake with a snort, rising up and automatically pulling his pistol from his side to aim at - Faraday? 

“Whoa, easy there,” the young man said, as Poppy growled. “Catfish.”

He waved his hand, from which two good-sized catfish were indeed dangling. 

Jack set the gun aside. “Well, that looks like breakfast,” he said, cheered by the sight. Faraday was a good sort, he thought, if a bit brash and reckless. But then, many young men were, until time and life taught them better.

“Yes, sir,” grinned Faraday, his dæmon hopping closer as Poppy’s growl cut out. 

“I didn’t know whether to shoot you or shit myself.” Jack remarked, to laughter from Faraday and his jackrabbit.

The fish had already been gutted, so all that was left to do was fry them up. His fire had burned low during the night, but that was a simple enough fix.

“Look out, son,” warned Jack, as he took a little bit of black powder in his hand to toss on the embers. Flames burst into life, and Faraday let out an appreciative hum at the sight.

Soon, the fish were sizzling away. Faraday had lain down on the grass beside Jack, their dæmons settled on the opposite side of the fire. Poppy was sprawled out on her side, tongue lolling, while Faraday’s jackrabbit was busily investigating some thistles.

Little Jack’s dæmon, Zipporah, had often taken the form of a jackrabbit.

“This’ll be good,” said Jack, mostly to distract himself.

Faraday hummed in assent, before remarking, “You’ve got it pretty good out here. I might just move out here with you.”

“Well, I could use the conversation,” said Jack, not taking the other man particularly seriously. He’d seen how much fun Faraday had had with Vasquez last night, not to mention his fondness for cards and drink. He’d be bored stiff out here with only an old man for company.

“The great Jack Horne,” Faraday said slowly.

Poppy looked up sharply as Jack felt his mood sink slightly. He had never been ‘great’; only broken and hurting and eager to make the whole world hurt along with him. 

“I remember hearing stories about you,” Faraday continued. “Never said anything about a family.”

Well, he supposed he’d brought this conversation on himself, bringing up Anne and the children last night over supper.

“Well, I lost my family,” Jack said. Poppy rose to her feet and moved around the fire to sit at his side, offering her support if he needed it. “They meant a lot to me… and I hold ‘em with me.”

His thoughts began to drift, the dark abyss of memory threatening, so he quickly turned the question back on Faraday. “What about you? You got a family, wife, children?”

Faraday shook his head. “Had a mother - well, I didn’t fall out of a horse’s ass.” They chuckled, until he sobered slightly. “I suppose I could have a couple of kids.”

Jack knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but a small part of him was disappointed in the younger man. His own children were so deeply missed, it felt strange to hear someone speak cavalierly about their own possible children.

“You a religious man?” Jack asked, as thinking of children brought back the memory of their little bodies, bloody and cold in the corner of the cabin. “I feel like saying a prayer.”

Faraday grumbled a little, but he allowed Jack to knock his hat from his head and pull him upright. He stayed quiet all through the little prayer, but then sprang to his feet.

“Praying make you feel better? After killing all those Indians, you pray?” he asked. 

Jack met his gaze evenly, resting his hand on Poppy’s back. He acknowledged his mistakes, his sins, and he would not hide from them. “Prayer is a powerful thing, son.”

“I suppose when we save these people, they’ll thank God, not us,” said Faraday, gesturing in the direction of the town.

“The Lord sent us,” Jack replied.

“Maybe he sent you,” retorted Faraday, “I’m here ‘cause I owed a man for a horse.”

Poppy huffed softly, and Jack nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s your story.”

Later, once Faraday had headed back into town, Jack settled down in the grass and said another prayer.

He prayed for Anne, and little Jack, and Lizzie, and William, that they were together and joyous in heaven. He prayed for every life he had taken, every soul he had sent from this earth, and everyone who had loved them.

He prayed for the people of Rose Creek, and he prayed for Bogue and his army, that they would all feel the blessings of the Lord’s love.

He prayed for Faraday and the rest of their companions, that they would fight well and be welcomed into Heaven should they fall. 

Finally, he said a small prayer for himself and Poppy: that they would have the strength to see this through, to protect their companions, and to free the good people of Rose Creek.

* * *

Billy had known this moment was coming. Ever since Goody had started talking about the owl again, he’d been waiting for him to reach the point of asking to leave.

He hadn’t expected him to leave without even telling him, however. His chest burned with anger, betrayal, and a deep, aching grief. Goody would’ve left him without even telling him, if it weren’t for his soul being brave enough to do it herself.

“I’m sorry,” said Kalliope, hovering in a corner of the vacant saloon. The townspeople were gathered in front of the church, while the rest of the seven were outside, watching the service. Or, in the case of Goodnight, preparing to sneak away. “I tried to tell him…”

“No one can change his mind,” Billy said, though it hurt. This had been Goody’s idea, this entire thing, and now he was turning tail and running? Leaving them?

Kalliope’s back arched. “He’s afraid,” she said, a hint of strain in her voice. Goody must’ve moved further away. They were able to bear a larger separation than many, Billy and Ji included, but even they had limits.

“Thank you,” said Billy. He knew that she would understand what he meant. Footsteps sounded in the alley outside; Goody, probably, looking for her. He bent down and let Ji slide from his neck down his arm to the floor. The viper slithered across the short distance to reach Kalliope. 

Billy felt the faint echo of their touch, and longed for Goody. He didn’t know if he wanted to kiss the man or stab him, shout at him or demand answers. He wasn’t used to feeling such a conflicting bundle of emotions.

Ji returned to him, and then Kalliope, baring her teeth slightly, stretched across the floor and butted her head against his hand.

“Kalli,” he choked out. Somewhere outside, Goody would’ve felt that touch, and realized what his dæmon was doing.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized again, before retreating and leaping to an open window, disappearing out into the night.

Slowly, Billy stood, settling Ji around his neck once more. She stretched up to whisper in his ear in their language, the Korean he so rarely used these days.

“They’ll come back,” she promised him.

“How do you know?” 

She flicked her tongue out, tickling the shell of his ear. “I trust them.”

“They left us,” Billy retorted, making for the empty bar. Opium was normally his drug of choice, but he’d take alcohol tonight. Anything, frankly, to dull the ache in his chest.

* * *

Faraday glanced up at the sound of hoofbeats, only to watch Goodnight ride by, dæmon curled up in front of him. 

He wasn’t all that surprised, frankly. He liked Goodnight, had enjoyed shooting the breeze with him even when the other man felt like pulling out his big dictionary words, but he’d known since that first fight that something was deeply wrong with the former sharpshooter. Faraday glanced down at Ann, who met his gaze and flicked her ear once.

A glance around the porch found Vasquez, Horne, and Red all watching the retreating figure with no inkling of surprise amongst them or their dæmons. Vasquez’s coyote didn’t even open her eyes. Apparently, he and Ann hadn't been the only ones to notice the cracks in Goodnight's facade.

Chisolm followed Goodnight out of the alley and watched him go, then turned and looked at all of them. His dæmon, uncharacteristically, flew from his shoulder to land on the porch a few feet from Faraday.

The eagle was bigger than Ann, he noted with mingled annoyance and amusement. Lord, if he was still a teenager he’d’ve been seething with jealousy. Like most kids, however, he'd learned the hard way: you couldn't change your soul, only how you felt about it.

Slowly, Chisolm walked over to join them on the porch, glancing between them all and noticing the figure missing. “Where’s Billy?”

Horne glanced over his shoulder into the saloon. “It looks like he’s started to drink.”

Indeed, when Faraday looked for himself, he saw Billy seated at the bar, steadily throwing back shots of whiskey. He raised a brow. He'd half-expected the other man to be chasing after Goodnight.

Chisolm’s offer for them to leave was surprising, but then again, not. Faraday had had his suspicions that Chisolm was in this for more than money or goodwill, but he was too decent a man to drag others with him in his own war. His own sense of honour probably demanded that he offer them a way out.

Unfortunately, Faraday thought with dark humour, it appeared Chisolm’d also gathered men too decent to leave good people to die.

Vasquez’s answer to the question was predictable. A man running from the noose had few options but to choose the time and manner of his death. More importantly, however, Faraday had come to realize that Vasquez was actually a good man underneath the outlaw exterior. 

Horne, likewise, was predictable. Being told that the old bear respected him sent an odd curl of pride through Faraday’s chest, enough to send Ann hopping over to affectionately bop his dæmon with a paw.

Red and his dæmon were a brick wall, as usual, but whatever Chisolm saw in their faces was enough to make him nod before turning his attention to Faraday.

Aw, what the hell, he thought. He nodded ever so slightly before turning his attention to the cards in his hand.

Chisolm nodded once more before turning away and heading towards the church, where the townspeople were beginning to disperse. His dæmon took off after him.

“I’m hungry,” someone said.

Faraday whirled around to find Vasquez and Horne staring open-mouthed at Red, who was staring back impassively. Vasquez’s coyote and Horne’s wolf were mirrors of each other, both looking incredulously at Red’s lynx, while Ann snickered at his feet.

“Wait, you speak English?” said Horne, flabbergasted, while Vasquez said something in Spanish that sounded uncomplimentary at best.

“So?” asked Red.

The mood lightened, and Faraday followed the other three into the saloon, reminding himself of the story he’d told the others earlier that week.

So far, so good.

* * *

“He left us."

Billy had dragged himself upstairs when the whiskey had run out, entertaining vague thoughts of smoking a cigarette before falling asleep. Then he’d found Goody’s flask abandoned on the table.

He’d stared at the empty flask for a few seconds, remembering the last time he’d seen it, with Goody’s lips wrapped around it. Then he’d collapsed onto their - his, now, he supposed - bed and looked blankly up at the ceiling. In sharp contrast to the past few nights, everything was quiet in the saloon. Everyone in Rose Creek, it seemed, was sleeping.

“He left us,” Billy repeated, when Ji didn’t respond to him the first time. She’d come out from underneath his bandana to curl up in a tight ball beside his head. 

“They'll come back," she insisted, as she had been for the past few hours.

He'd been angry, but now Billy felt curiously empty. The tangled knot of emotions from before had unravelled, and he couldn’t grasp at the threads through the drink.

Left behind again. 

“He loves us, doesn't he?"

“He does,” Billy replied instantly. That, he could never doubt. Goody did love them… but maybe he didn’t love them enough.

“Then he'll come back."

He wanted to believe it, but old wounds were rearing their heads, faded memories from Korea rising to the surface. This wasn't the first time someone had loved Billy but left him behind anyway.

“He could’ve talked to us,” he said.

Ji sighed. "He's afraid," she said gently, "we know that."

She was telling the truth, but that didn't make him feel any better. Goody loved them. Goody left them.

"I want to believe he'll come back," said Billy slowly, "but I can't."

"Why - "

"We're going to die tomorrow," he snapped, interrupting her. "Maybe they come back, maybe they don't. It's not going to change anything!"

She stared at him, mouth open.

"I won't get my hopes up," he continued, his heart aching. "Not now."

For several long moments, Ji was silent. Billy stared at the ceiling and let reality sink in. Goody and Kalliope had left them. It hurt. He was tired and drunk. In about six hours, they were going to be in a life or death fight.

They were going to die tomorrow, and Goody wasn't going to be by his side.

"Jae-yeon," Ji said quietly, sliding closer to rub against his cheek, "I'm scared too."

Hearing his real name was a shock, after so many years of answering to ‘Billy’. It told him, more than anything, how serious she was. How afraid she was.

“I don’t want to die," he admitted, lifting his hand to run over her scales. "I didn’t - I don’t want to die without them.”

“Neither do I.”

But there was nothing they could do. Goody had left them, and taken Kalliope with him, and now they were going to die alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope billy isn't ooc here
> 
> i wanted to explore how he must've been feeling after goody up and left in a bit more detail than we're given in the movie
> 
> the dæmons we've seen so far:
> 
> Emma Cullen and Abellio (white-tailed deer)  
> Matthew Cullen and Irene (mourning dove)  
> Faraday and Doireann "Ann" (black-tailed jackrabbit)  
> Chisolm and Hester (golden eagle)  
> Teddy Q and Kesiah (foxhound)  
> Goodnight and Kalliope (domestic cat (tuxedo))  
> Billy and Ji (mamushi pit viper)  
> Vasquez and Dalia (coyote)  
> Horne and Poppy (gray wolf)  
> Red Harvest and M ~~u~~ a (Canada lynx)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's time for the final battle!

The morning had dawned clear and sunny. Vasquez and the others had been up before the sun, making last-minute preparations and going over the plan a final time, now that Mrs. Cullen was planning to act as their sniper.

Faraday had vouched for her ability, surprising everyone, Mrs. Cullen most of all. Her stag had bent its head down to whisper something to Faraday’s dæmon, before they’d all separated to take their positions.

For Vasquez, that meant the church. He made the sign of the cross as he entered, whispering a prayer under his breath as he directed the other men to their positions. 

The church bell tolling meant that the time had come. He let his hand rest briefly on Dalia’s head before calling out orders.

Billy and Horne were in the trenches, their first line of defense. Billy had shown up that morning apparently no worse for wear after his night of drinking, so Vasquez could only hope that meant the man was as sharp as ever. Horne had sent them all off with a nonsensical verse about trusting in the Lord.

Vasquez had trouble trusting the Lord these days, what with a bounty of five hundred dollars on his head.

Chisolm and Red were in town with him, Chisolm waiting to draw Bogue out while Red was positioned on one of the rooftops, the better to make use of his arrows. It was Faraday who was most at risk, out by the shed by himself. Vasquez couldn’t help the twinge of worry in his chest, thinking about the reckless Irishman by himself, but he had to trust in their plan.

Strange, how after only a week he could trust these men.

Even stranger, how he felt a twinge of anxiety in his chest when he thought about the odds of them all surviving the next few hours.

Dalia bumped into his thigh as he took up position against the wall, cigar in his mouth and hand on his gun.

“Ready?” she asked lowly. All around him, other men were having similar conversations with their dæmons and with each other, bracing themselves for the fight ahead.

“We’re already dead, _corazón_ ,” he reminded her. “Of course I’m ready.”

* * *

Sam stared out at the long line of men stretched out along the ridge. Somewhere among them was Bartholomew Bogue. Overhead, Hester let out a cry.

She’d seen them, then, or more likely the wagon needed to carry Bogue’s dæmon about.

The army began charging forward, but Sam continued to wait. This part of his plan was all about direction, leading the army into traps and setting them off. He scanned the oncoming wall of figures, noting as some split off and headed for the miners’ camp. 

There were men waiting for them once they reached the camp, but first, he had the main bulk of the army to worry about. A small group of men had remained on the ridgeline - Bogue, his lieutenants, and likely a few others. 

Bogue was a cruel, heartless bastard, but he wasn’t an idiot. 

Two massive explosions shook the earth, sending men, dæmons, and horses flying. The dirt that flew up with them blurred the bright bursts of gold as several dæmons died instantly.

Sam felt a small twinge of pity for the screaming horses he could hear - no horse asked for a bad master - but then refocused on the survivors, still charging towards him.

There were faint gunshots and shouting from the miners’ camp, soon followed by more as Horne, Billy, and their men threw back the covers for the trenches and began shooting.

Sam said a quick prayer for their success and survival, and waited for Hester’s signal.

The scream from above soon came, and Sam turned his horse around, cantering back into town as men from Bogue’s army followed. He took shots where he could, paid attention to where he was going, and cast all other thoughts from his mind.

A wolf dæmon disappeared in a burst of gold as one of Red’s arrows struck it clean through, a Blackstone soldier falling dead from his horse the moment it did.

Mrs. Cullen and the other shooters in the balconies began firing as men came into range, other bird dæmons joining Hester in the sky despite the risk. In the street, more men and dæmons fell, but Bogue’s army seemed endless.

Another set of explosions told Sam that Faraday was playing his role. There were so many gunshots ringing out now that it was impossible to tell where they were all coming from. He could only hope that everyone was still alive, and that they all still would be by the end of this.

* * *

Goodnight and Kalliope didn’t sleep after leaving Rose Creek. They rode until his Adelaide began to slow and then found a creek for her to drink from. While she drank, Goody stumbled to a tree, slumped to the ground, buried his face in his hands, and began to cry.

He felt horrible. Guilt, panic, despair, paranoia - every negative emotion in the world was bundled up around his heart, choking him. He was barely cognizant of Kalliope butting her head against his side, trying desperately to talk him down.

Lord, he needed a cigarette. He reached for his pocket only to suddenly remember that all of the opium cigarettes were with Billy, back in Rose Creek.

Thinking of Billy brought on a fresh wave of tears. He’d never deserved him, never deserved to have the love of a man like that. It had only been a matter of time before Billy realized how much better off he would be without Goody.

Goody had taken that choice from him, now. Not that it would matter. In a few hours, Billy would be dead, just like Sam and Mrs. Cullen and all the rest of them.

“Goody, please,” Kalli begged, digging her claws into his thigh as she tried to scramble under his arms. “Please, let me help.”

“I’m a coward,” Goody told her, voice gone raspy from crying. “I couldn’t do it.”

She hesitated for a moment. 

“Why did you leave without telling Billy?” 

“I’m a coward,” he repeated. He’d tried, he really had. Waited until they’d all finished work for that day, hovered around the saloon, thinking of what to say. But in the end, he was too cowardly to face him. “I couldn’t - I didn’t want to see his face.”

“What?” She sounded puzzled.

“I didn’t want to see his face when he realized what a spineless, yellow-bellied coward he’d wasted all this time with,” said Goody, a wave of self-loathing briefly washing away everything else he felt. 

“That’s not true!” 

“Ain’t it?” He retorted. “I left them, and I wasn’t even man enough to tell them.”

The misery came rushing back, then, and Goody could no longer find words with which to speak. He simply sat there beneath the tree, Kalliope in his lap, lost in a sea of guilt and regret and horrible memories.

After an hour or two had passed, his mare came wandering over to nudge at him, and Goody roused himself enough to get back into the saddle. He ignored all of Kalli’s concerned questions, allowing years of habit to guide his movements.

They’d only ridden for a half-hour, however, when Goody spotted trouble over the crest of the next hill.

“Hellfire,” he cursed, quickly turning Adelaide around and trotting her back down the hill.

“Was that - ” Kalli asked, as wide-eyed as he felt.

“I believe so,” he said, dismounting and hurriedly tethering Adelaide within a small copse of trees. He and Kalliope crept back up the hill and peered over.

Several fires burned all throughout the camp. At least a hundred men and horses were gathered, most of them sleeping on the hard ground beneath the stars. A few tents had been set up near a few wagons.

Bogue’s dæmon travelled by wagon, if Goody recalled correctly. But what was the other wagon for? 

For the first time in a long time, he longed for his old Whitworth rifle and its scope. At this distance, in this darkness, all he could tell with his own eyes was that there was something covered in tarps on the wagon.

“What do we do?” whispered Kalli. 

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. There didn’t seem to be anyone keeping watch, but with that many men sleeping outdoors, he couldn’t chance creeping any closer.

Part of him wanted to turn around, run back down the hill to his horse, and leave. But Goody had a cat dæmon for a reason. His mother had always said his curiosity would be the death of him.

The sky was beginning to lighten by the time the camp started to wake up. Goody waited up on his hill, Kalli pressed against his side, while the men fed themselves and their horses. A few figures emerged from the tents and headed for the wagons.

Goody watched with bated breath as a white man in dark clothing paused beside the wagon with the mysterious object in it. At this distance, it was impossible to hear what, if anything, was said, but he could see the gesture the man made.

Two others joined him, dog-like dæmons at their heels, and removed one of the tarps. Goody buried his teeth into his knuckles to keep from screaming.

It was a Gatling gun. 

He scrambled backwards down the hill, belly pressed into the ground, until he reached the copse where he’d left Adelaide.

Then he vomited.

“That - that was - ” Kalliope sounded as horrified as he felt.

Goody wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “He’s brought a goddamn Gatling gun.” 

Some of his worst nightmares from the war were of the Gatling gun. He’d seen young men, boys, really, cut nearly in half by that deadly spray of bullets. Entire companies wiped out in a single pass of the devil’s breath.

And that was the weapon Bogue had brought to bear on Rose Creek.

“We have to warn them,” said Kalli.

Goody fought back the urge to vomit again, as he imagined Sam and Hester facing off against that weapon. Or - his heart cracked in his chest - Billy and Ji.

“You’re right.” He knew what he had to do.

* * *

Red had taken an hour that morning, sitting outside in the grass, well away from where the townspeople had set up their explosives, to make arrows. While he allowed his mind to drift, hands working with ease of long familiarity, M ~~u~~ a had hummed quietly at his side. 

It was a lullaby from their childhood, before things had changed. His older sister had sung it to him since before he could remember; Red wondered if she’d been singing it when he was in the cradleboard on her back. The memories were tinged with bitterness now, shadowed by her death, but they brought peace with them all the same. 

The bell had rung, signalling the arrival of Bogue’s army. Red had gathered up his arrows and climbed up to the rooftops to take his position. The line of men stretching across the horizon did not alarm him - he had seen their numbers already - but did set his blood burning. The fight was almost here.

The explosions shook the ground and made his teeth rattle in his head. Daemons swooped overhead, but Red paid them no mind, keeping his gaze on Chisolm. His role had been explained to him, and he would do as he needed to do.

M ~~u~~ a paced furiously as Red covered Chisolm’s back, yowling a warning as some of the men on the ground caught sight of him.

Jumping between the rooftops, Red found the first fire arrow he’d set up the previous day. Taking cover behind the wooden frame, he lit a match and ignited the oil-soaked cloth wrapped around the shaft. Speed was of the essence here; he stood, aimed, and fired.

Flames sprang up in the first set of wagons, and Red moved on. He used two arrows on a Blackstone with a wolverine dæmon who just wouldn’t die, until Chisolm put a bullet through his head. His next target was a man taking aim at the balcony where Mrs. Cullen and the others were firing from, and then another who was bearing down on a wounded townsman. 

Behind him, M ~~u~~ a snarled victoriously as she took another dæmon out of the sky, powerful jaws tearing through the feathers and flesh. Somewhere, a Blackstone soldier fell from his horse.

The haze of smoke was growing thicker, making it harder to spot enemies and allies alike. Still, Red kept shooting, until he reached into his quiver and came back empty. He drew his pistol instead. M ~~u~~ a yowled as she managed to leap up and take another bird dæmon out of the sky.

He kept shooting, and underneath the adrenaline and the fear, he felt a certainty deep within him. A certainty that here, now, in this moment, was where they were supposed to be.

This hadn’t been their fight before, but it was now.

* * *

The battle was going as well as could be expected. Billy had made it back into town from the trenches, shooting and slicing his way through dozens of enemies on his way. The rifle he was holding now he’d taken off a dead body. Ji felt hot against his throat, but she kept still and quiet. This wasn’t a fight she could help him win.

Faraday had taken a shot to the stomach but was still breathing. No one else, as far as Billy knew, was injured, at least not of their core seven.

Faraday and Vasquez’s dæmons were working together again, the hare tripping up their opponents so that the coyote could get her teeth into them. Billy had caught a glimpse of Red Harvest’s lynx, leaping and taking an enemy dæmon out of the sky when it dove too close.

Goodnight’s return was a dramatic affair, but Billy expected nothing less. Goody jumped Adelaide over one of the flaming carts, nearly dislodging Kalliope from her seat, brandishing his rifle and bellowing:

“They’ve got the devil’s breath! They’ve got a goddamn Gatling gun!”

Billy’s heart turned to ice, and he felt Ji’s horrified gasp. He knew, from Goody’s nightmares, what a Gatling gun was.

They were doomed.

“Get inside! Inside!”

Billy looked up and met Goody’s eyes. He couldn’t begin to make sense of everything he was feeling: the disbelieving joy of Goody’s return, the fear of the Gatling, the pounding adrenaline of the fight.

“Billy!”

“Goody,” he said, taking the rifle thrown to him as Goody leapt from Adelaide’s back, Kalliope following after.

They ran for the church as the Gatling roared, glass and wood shattered, and people and horses were cut down in seconds.

Then, silence.

“They’re reloading!” Goody warned as the men around them made to get up. “Stay down!”

“The children,” gasped Faraday, staggering to his feet and rushing for the door, his dæmon racing ahead. Billy looked out the window and saw that the general store, where they’d hidden the children, was on fire.

Billy went to the door as Goody began climbing up into the steeple, covering Faraday and his dæmon as they ran across the street. 

Once the other man had made it into cover, Billy turned to the rope himself, tossing his rifle up to Goody, who grinned down at him, Kalliope draped across his shoulders.

“Come on, Billy!”

They sent the schoolteacher on his way and settled back against the sandbags to reload their weapons.

“I knew you’d come back,” Billy informed Goody, grinning to himself. In this moment, close to death, all of his anger had melted away. There was only a savage joy, that Goody and Kalliope had come back, and that they would all go out together.

Goody chuckled. “You did, did you?” He glanced over at him. “How’d you know that?”

Billy pulled out the silver-embossed flask he’d found in their room last night when he’d finally gone to bed.

“You forgot this.”

Goody laughed, and Kalliope scrambled across the sandbags to press her face into his neck, where Ji met her with a pleased hiss.

Guns reloaded, they stood and began taking out the remains of Bogue’s army. Billy saw movement off to one side and looked over to see the women and children, making for the far ridgeline. He hoped they made it.

* * *

Jack had kept his arm over Teddy’s shoulder as sand and dirt sprayed up around them, the Gatling’s bullets tearing through the battered town. Poppy and Teddy’s dæmon were huddled up together, somewhere on Teddy’s other side, and Jack could only hope that no stray bullet caught either of them.

Glass shattered around them, men, horses, and dæmons screaming as they died, but by the grace of God, no further bullets struck him or Teddy.

Once the thunder of the Gatling had faded, Jack heaved himself to his feet. He knew enough to know that they were only reloading, and he had to get himself and young Jack - no, Teddy, this was Teddy - he had to get them under cover before it started again.

“Come on, get up now,” Jack said, hauling Teddy up. There was blood staining the young man’s shirt, and his right leg wouldn’t hold him up.

“I can’t, they got my leg, sir,” Teddy gasped.

“Jack,” Poppy warned, as she nudged Teddy’s foxhound forward. 

“Wrap that leg, stop the bleeding,” Jack told him, half-throwing him through an open doorway. An overturned table would provide some cover from any enemies left, and if they stayed low they should be alright. He tossed the rifle to Teddy. “You did good - ”

Jack knew well what being shot by an arrow felt like. His thigh spasmed, a burning ache blossoming out from where the head was buried deep into the muscle.

Poppy yipped sharply, stumbling into the doorframe as Jack turned around.

He had never before seen the man approaching with an arrow between his teeth. But he could guess who he was. 

His arm and thigh burned, but Jack knew what he had to do. He had to give Teddy and his dæmon time to get behind cover and get the rifle loaded.

He drew his knife and lurched towards Denali. Another arrow struck him in the shoulder, staggering him briefly, but he barrelled forward.

“We are giants,” Jack grunted through the pain, “put on this earth to rid it of evil, and to keep all that is good!”

Another arrow struck him in the chest, and this time when he staggered he fell to the ground, throbs of pain pulsing through him. His thigh felt as though he’d doused it in acid.

Poppy howled as she crashed into the dirt, his pain too great for her to keep her paws beneath her. Her weight against his back was the only comfort he could feel.

They growled as one and cried out as one when the final arrow pierced his hand clean through. He strained for a few precious seconds more, but his strength was fading quickly. 

The knife fell from his grasp, as the pain began to grow curiously distant and the colours started to bleed out of the world.

_“You should take better care of yourself, husband mine,” Anne said, dark hair shining in the firelight. The cut on his palm stung, but her hands were gentle as she washed away the blood._

“Jack,” Poppy gasped.

There wasn’t enough air in his lungs. He couldn’t speak, could do nothing but gaze up at the darkening sky and wonder. Would he be reunited with his family in Heaven, or had his sins been too great? 

_“But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God,” Jack read, his children gathered at his feet and Anne by his side, “the fruit you get leads to sanctification and its end, eternal life. For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”_

With that last, comforting memory, Jack fell into the sweet darkness of unconsciousness.

* * *

Red watched as Horne slumped forward, his dæmon’s head dropping to the dirt. But she didn’t disappear. There was still hope.

The traitor, Denali, the _Nʉmʉnʉʉ_ who fought for Bogue, didn’t seem to care that his enemy was not quite dead. He strode past the fallen figures and entered the saloon.

“Red Harvest,” said M ~~u~~ a, a warning and a question. He nodded and ran for the neighbouring roof. 

By the time they reached the saloon’s roof, he could hear the frantic gasping of Mrs. Cullen, the click of an empty pistol, and the enraged bellowing of a stag.

Red dropped down onto the balcony and found a curious scene awaiting him inside. 

Mrs. Cullen, an unfamiliar man and a dog dæmon leaking golden Dust were huddled up inside, with Mrs. Cullen aiming a pistol at Denali with a shaky hand. Her dæmon was halfway up the stairs, bleeding from a deep gash on its side, but Denali had positioned himself in the perfect spot to keep a knife aimed at the stag and a hatchet aimed at the people.

His own dæmon, a scorpion, was perched on the back of his neck and spotted Red’s entrance.

Slowly, Denali turned to face him, keeping half an eye on the enraged stag but apparently dismissing Mrs. Cullen and the other man entirely.

M ~~u~~ a growled, and Denali charged. Red dodged, slicing through his enemy’s bicep easily. The rest of the fight was almost laughable. The only time Red felt any fear at all was when his left arm suddenly exploded in pain. He jumped back, avoiding Denali’s swipe, only to see that M ~~u~~ a had pinned the scorpion dæmon beneath one heavy paw. 

Red ignored the pain and the numbness, shoving his shoulder into Denali’s chest and throwing the other to the ground. The railing splintered as they crashed through it, and Mrs. Cullen let out a small shriek. Seizing his enemy by the back of the head, Red drove his knife deep into Denali’s stomach and twisted.

“You’re a disgrace,” he told him, disgust welling up within him at the sight of one of his own people, wearing the clothing of their enemies and fighting alongside them. 

Red stepped back and kicked Denali in the chest, sending the man plummeting down to the floor below. There was a crash as he fell through one of the tables, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. 

When Red turned to look at Mrs. Cullen, she refused to meet his gaze. Her jaw was still trembling. He glanced at M ~~u~~ a, who looked down at the scorpion still pinned beneath her paw. He nodded.

She shifted her weight, sinking one of her claws into the scorpion’s head. It dissolved into golden Dust beneath her paw.

“Let’s go,” said Red, heading back out into the street. This fight wasn’t over yet.

* * *

“Sam, we’ve gotta do something about that gun,” said Faraday. His side burned with a sharp, throbbing pain, and his hand was sticky with blood. Ann kept eyeing the wound anxiously, but there was nothing they could do about it until the fight was over.

Chisolm looked at him for a long moment. “You know what? We’re even. You don’t owe me for the horse or anything.”

“Well, you owe me,” said Faraday, as a stupid, stupid idea entered his mind.

“Joshua,” Ann snapped.

“What’s that?” Chisolm asked, surprised.

“Cover.”

It was a hell-bent ride out to the wagon, on a bay mare that was nothing compared to his Jack, Ann tucked away in a saddlebag and hopefully safe. Billy and Goodnight were up in the steeple, distracting the men manning the Gatling, so they didn’t notice his suicidal approach immediately.

The Gatling roared, bullets tearing through the steeple. Faraday didn’t have time to feel anything except a brief burst of grief at the likely fates of the men and their dæmons.

His head was beginning to go a bit fuzzy. That would be the blood loss, he thought hazily. He could almost imagine he was hearing Vasquez shouting at him with that nickname of his… _güero_...

Never did figure out what that meant, Faraday realized abruptly, as he took a bullet to the shoulder.

Seconds later, he took another in almost the same place, enough to knock him from his horse. Still, he forced himself to his feet, thoughts barely coherent. Ann was nearby, he thought, though he couldn’t hear her over the roaring in his ears.

He staggered forward, focused on the men and dæmons surrounding the Gatling gun. He had to reach that gun. It was the one, all-consuming thought in his mind. He’d barely taken three steps when he was shot again, this time in the hip.

That one hurt worse than any other. Something shattered, probably bone, and his entire leg lit up like it was on fire. Faraday fell to the ground, and this time, he couldn’t quite struggle back up to his feet.

“Stay down, boy,” someone warned him, when he managed to sit up.

 _Did he have a choice?_ He wondered muzzily, fumbling in his pockets for the cigarillo he’d stolen off of Vasquez. 

Ann was there, suddenly, her warm body pressing into his side, and he dimly heard someone sniggering, about the boy with the rabbit soul.

She’s a hare, he thought but couldn’t say. He pulled out his matchbook and tried vainly to light one, but couldn’t get his fingers to work right. 

The grass was starting to go gray around the edges.

“Joshua,” Ann whispered, but he couldn’t answer her either.

Suddenly, someone was there, striking a match for him and lighting the cigarillo. Faraday looked up and found himself staring at a man with an eyepatch, with a crow perched on his shoulder.

That tickled him, somehow, but he didn’t have the energy to do anything except tip his head in acknowledgement. He inhaled once, and then slumped forward.

The chuckles and murmurs at his demise came to an abrupt halt when he sat back up with a lit piece of dynamite in his hands.

“I’ve always been lucky with one-eyed jacks.”

Then the world exploded into pain, a blow to the chest like a kick from a horse knocking him off his feet and, mercifully, into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the rest of the battle will be wrapped up in the next chapter
> 
> the dæmons we've seen so far:
> 
> Emma Cullen and Abellio (white-tailed deer)  
> Matthew Cullen and Irene (mourning dove)  
> Faraday and Doireann "Ann" (black-tailed jackrabbit)  
> Chisolm and Hester (golden eagle)  
> Teddy Q and Kesiah (foxhound)  
> Goodnight and Kalliope (domestic cat (tuxedo))  
> Billy and Ji (mamushi pit viper)  
> Vasquez and Dalia (coyote)  
> Horne and Poppy (gray wolf)  
> Red Harvest and M ~~u~~ a (Canada lynx)
> 
> Denali's dæmon is an Arizona bark scorpion
> 
> the Bible quote Jack recalls in this chapter is Romans 6:22


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the second to last chapter! thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments, I love you guys!

The Gatling was gone. Bogue slowly rode into Rose Creek, two men with dog dæmons riding alongside him and two donkeys towing the wagon with his own dæmon.

Sam waited and watched.

Once they’d all three dismounted, he began to sing. Bogue jumped, and the two men with him both looked around, spooked.

Bogue took the bait, sending his two lackeys to investigate Sam’s location. He continued singing in a low voice, waiting patiently until the right moment to strike.

The Blackstones were easily dispatched, nothing compared to the dozens of others Sam had killed that day. He sent them back out into the street, one through the door and one through the window.

He waited until he saw the dæmons explode in golden dust, and then he walked out into the street and faced the man he’d hated for nearly two decades.

Bogue tried to taunt him, acting as though he had no idea who he was or what he wanted, but Sam could see the fear in him. He simply answered his questions as though they were asked in good faith, letting the anger fuel him. 

Patience. The moment wasn’t yet right.

He shot Bogue’s gun right out of his hand, and then advanced. Second shot to the thigh, and Bogue was crawling into the burnt-out church.

“You a god-fearing man?” Bogue asked. Sam was, but there would be no salvation for him. A man who let his mother and sisters die, who had led innocents to their deaths in his own pursuit of vengeance?

He took a moment, said a quick prayer, but then he followed the gasping, crawling Bogue right into the church.

It was the stuff of dreams, listening to Bogue beg and plead for his life, the way his mother and sisters must have. Sam relished in it more than he should, years upon years of rage crescendoing in a single moment. Bogue, choking and gasping with a cord around his neck, the way Sam had all those years ago.

Bogue’s eyes were beginning to bulge out of his head, his tongue going purple, fingers grasping uselessly at Sam’s hands. He could feel his enemy's pulse, still racing -

“SAM!” Hester screamed from behind him. 

Sam whirled, swore, and let go of the bandana, diving aside just in time. He’d forgotten about the damn dæmon!

The alligator’s jaws snapped shut inches from his foot. Bogue gasped and choked for breath as his dæmon whirled, heavy body scrambling for purchase on the wooden floorboards. Sam growled and reached for his gun. He was not going to lose his chance, not now.

A shot rang out, and Bogue slumped backwards in front of the cross, exhaling in a single, breathy gasp. His dæmon let out a rattling hiss and lunged forward, jaws agape, before disappearing in a swirl of golden dust.

Mrs. Cullen stood in the doorway, rifle in her hands, her dæmon’s antlers a crown above her head.

It was over, Sam realized. For all of them. Mrs. Cullen had had her revenge. Bogue was dead. His mother and sisters had been avenged. He felt almost hollow, as though someone had taken everything he'd felt over all those years and scooped it away, leaving behind nothing but a dawning acceptance.

It was over.

“Amen.”

* * *

As Vasquez rode out into the field where the Gatling had been, Dalia racing along beside him, all he could hear was the screaming of Faraday’s dæmon. The death-screams of a hare were a horrible thing, but he took comfort from them, because if she was screaming then Faraday was still alive.

He found man and dæmon curled up together, burnt and bloody and somehow, impossibly, alive. Dalia circled around them, looking anxiously between them, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Her teeth were still stained red.

Vasquez threw himself from his horse and fell to his knees beside the pair. For a moment he was frozen, torn between instinct and deeply-ingrained societal taboo.

To touch another’s dæmon was possibly the greatest universal taboo. It had been done to Vasquez only once, and he still remembered intimately the horrible, crawling feeling under his skin, the utter wrongness of someone touching his very soul.

Faraday’s dæmon was still screaming, but the man himself was unconscious and barely breathing. Vasquez closed his eyes, prayed to a God he was unsure he believed in, and then looked down at Faraday.

“ _Lo siento, güero._ ”

He bent down and scooped both man and dæmon into his arms.

“Shh, shh, _mijita, cálmate_ ,” he murmured to the screaming jackrabbit, who looked up at him with a single amber eye and promptly fell unconscious. But she was still there, so Vasquez hoisted man and dæmon onto the horse and rode back into town.

He went slower, this time, so as not to jostle his passengers, and by the time he and Dalia were trotting down the main street, it appeared that the battle was won. Chisolm and Mrs. Cullen were emerging from the church, and other townspeople were milling about.

Several were huddled around the large, arrow-riddled forms of Horne and his wolf, while Mrs. Frankel was directing people into the old brothel, which they seemed to be planning to set up as some kind of makeshift hospital.

“Vasquez!” Chisolm shouted when he spotted him. His eagle swooped down from the roof of the church to land on his shoulder.

“I’ve got Faraday!” Vasquez shouted back, “he’s still alive!”

“Still alive?” Mrs. Frankel repeated, looking between Faraday’s lifeless form and Vasquez incredulously. “Then get him inside, by God!”

The doctor took one look at Faraday, swore, and then ordered a room cleared immediately.

Vasquez watched, hardly feeling his own wound, as the doctor and his assistants worked feverishly over Faraday. He kept his gaze fixed on Faraday’s dæmon. As long as she was there, Faraday was still alive.

Dalia was a steadfast presence at his side, leaning into his leg, her own eyes just as focused on Faraday and his dæmon as his. 

How in God’s name had they ended up here, Vasquez wondered dizzily. A week ago he had been living in a cabin with a dead man, and now he was here, waiting to see if a drunken Irishman was going to live or die.

Vasquez had long suspected that his life was one of God’s personal jokes. This felt like confirmation.

Chisolm appeared beside him, dirty but otherwise apparently unharmed. His dæmon was back in her customary place on his shoulder.

“How’s he doing?”

“This must be the most stubborn sonuvabitch to ever walk the Earth,” the doctor grunted, bloody up to his elbows with sweat dripping down his face. “He oughta be dead six times over.” His dæmon, a large, fluffy cat that had hardly moved from its station under the table, huffed in apparent agreement.

Vasquez flinched, and Chisolm rested his hand on his shoulder. 

“That’s our Faraday,” he said, before looking down at Vasquez. “Red’s fine. They’re working on Horne, Billy, and Goody now.”

“How bad?” Vasquez asked, his own arm still burning. 

“Not as bad as him,” replied Chisolm, inclining his head towards Faraday. Vasquez snorted. Dead men weren’t as bad as Faraday.

“You should get that arm looked at,” Chisolm continued.

Vasquez shook him off. “It’s fine. Others need the help more.” Dalia shifted her weight but kept her mouth shut.

Chisolm’s eagle clacked her beak, while the lawman pressed his lips together before nodding. “Alright.”

A few hours later, someone did come by to clean up and wrap Vasquez’s arm, but he refused to move from his chair. 

He had an apology to make.

* * *

When he woke up, all Goody could register was a vague sense of surprise he was waking up at all. He distinctly recalled getting shot by a Gatling gun and falling off a roof, which didn’t sound like something one should be waking up from.

“Our survival is a mystery for the ages,” Kalli rasped from her spot curled up beside him. Unlike him, she appeared to be entirely intact.

“Did we win?” Goody croaked. His throat felt as dry as the Sahara, and now that was more aware, aches and pains were beginning to make themselves known all across his body.

“Somehow, yes,” she answered. “And everyone’s alive, even. For the moment,” she clarified.

“Who…”

“Faraday’s still in a bad way,” Kalli admitted, pressing closer into his side. “And Horne’s not out of the woods either.”

“Billy? Ji?”

“Healing,” she assured him. “Look beside you.”

Goody turned his head. His gaze was met by the most beautiful sight in the world: Billy, asleep, Ji wrapped around his exposed forearm like a bracelet.

It was as though an elephant had been lifted from his chest. Goody exhaled. Billy was alive.

He relaxed back into the bed, allowing his eyes to drift shut. Billy was alive. Nothing else mattered, except that one, glorious fact.

Billy was alive.

* * *

Billy had been having difficulty sleeping since he’d been shot. It seemed he could only sleep for an hour or so at a time before he’d find himself jerking awake, startling whatever nurses or visitors happened to be in the room at the time.

His injuries, all told, were relatively mild, or so the doctor had informed him. Mild compared to the likes of Faraday and Goody, at any rate. At least Billy hadn’t felt the need to fall off a church roof like certain overdramatic bastards he could mention.

Regardless, he was still confined to bed, which left him a lot of time to do nothing but stare at the ceiling and think.

During the battle, and immediately after, Billy had been too ecstatic at Goody’s triumphant return and miraculous survival to feel much of anything besides happiness and relief. As their convalescence dragged on, however, the darker emotions began creeping back.

Goody had returned, yes, but he’d still left in the first place.

He’d left Billy behind, and for all his joking about that damn flask, he hadn’t really expected the other man to come back.

Ji slithered up his chest and loomed over him, meeting his gaze. “You’re brooding.”

Billy didn’t answer.

“I’m angry too, you know.”

He sighed. He was angry, yes, but more than that, he was terrified of being left behind again. Goody had had bad episodes before. There’d been days where he wasn’t even able to get in the saddle, or leave whatever room they were staying in.

Never had he ever left Billy behind before.

“I don’t want to be left again,” he admitted to Ji.

“Neither do I,” she said, dropping down to wrap around his neck. Feeling that familiar weight relaxed Billy somewhat. He glanced over at Goody, but the other man was sound asleep.

Unlike Billy, Goody spent most of his time sleeping. His broken leg was splinted, as was his broken arm, and his torso was more bandage than skin at this point.

Guilt crept in. Goody had nearly died. He’d brought them the news of the Gatling gun, saved their lives, probably. Was it really right for Billy to hold a grudge?

A grudge, maybe not, he thought to himself. Holding out for an apology, on the other hand…

* * *

There was sunlight on his face.

Faraday tried to open his eyes, but they felt stuck-down and heavy. He tried to reach up to scrub at them, but the motion sent waves of pain cascading down his side. A shocked whimper escaped his throat.

“Easy, _güero_ ,” a warm, familiar voice said. “I got you.”

Someone brushed a damp bit of cloth over his face, and then pressed a cup to his lips. Unthinkingly, Faraday opened his mouth, allowing water to be poured in.

“Open your eyes?”

Faraday thought about keeping them closed, just to be contrary, but his heart wasn’t in it. He opened his eyes.

The room was unfamiliar, but the face leaning over him was not. Vasquez broke into a relieved smile and said something in Spanish.

“You know I can’t understand you,” Faraday said - or tried to, the words catching in his throat.

“Whoa, easy there, Faraday,” someone else said. Sam Chisolm came into view beside Vasquez, looking just as relieved. “You’ve been out of it for quite a while, son.”

“Ann…” he croaked.

“She’s under your right hand,” Chisolm told him. Faraday focused and twitched his fingers; sure enough, there was her familiar soft fur. Peace settled over him. They were still together. They weren’t broken.

“Everyone else is alive as well,” Vasquez assured him. “Goodnight, Billy, Red, even Horne.”

“Mrs…”

“Mrs. Cullen as well,” said Vasquez, expression twisting oddly. Faraday thought he should take more note of that, but at the moment he was too tired to think much of anything.

“You go back to sleep if you need to,” Chisolm said reassuringly. “You’ve earned it.”

Faraday let himself drift away.

His dreams were strange things, full of smoke and noise and strange, disjointed speech. 

“We need the lead… _andale, güero!_ ”

Howling wolves - or was it a coyote? Faraday wheeled around, heart racing, but all he could see was smoke.

“How much for his horse… those nightmares haunt you, Mr. Faraday?”

A stag with a crown of antlers stepped through the gloom, followed by a figure half-blurred by memory.

“Mama?”

“You be good, Joshua… you’ve earned it, Faraday… you don’t owe me for anything.”

She vanished along with the stag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the battle is over, now it's time for recovery, and in the next chapter, some important conversations
> 
> the dæmons we've seen so far:
> 
> Emma Cullen and Abellio (white-tailed deer)  
> Matthew Cullen and Irene (mourning dove)  
> Faraday and Doireann "Ann" (black-tailed jackrabbit)  
> Chisolm and Hester (golden eagle)  
> Teddy Q and Kesiah (foxhound)  
> Goodnight and Kalliope (domestic cat (tuxedo))  
> Billy and Ji (mamushi pit viper)  
> Vasquez and Dalia (coyote)  
> Horne and Poppy (gray wolf)  
> Red Harvest and M ~~u~~ a (Canada lynx)
> 
> Bogue's dæmon is an American alligator


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again to my wonderful beta Fontainebleau, without whom this story would be much shorter and messier
> 
> this chapter also features a cameo, in honour of the bestest friendest [the-moons-raes](https://the-moons-raes.tumblr.com/) who cheered me on through this whole process, love you!
> 
> hope you guys enjoy this final chapter!

“... then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is - his good, pleasing, and perfect will.”

Jack closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he’d been able to attend a proper service. He’d almost forgotten the pleasure that could be found in gathering together with others to honour the Lord. 

It was easy to fall back into the rhythm of the service. His voice had never been good, but no one seemed upset or put off by his singing, only glancing at him with fond smiles. 

When the service ended, Jack stayed in his seat, allowing the rest of the congregation to filter out past him. He accepted the many ‘thanks’ and ‘God bless yous’ with as much grace as he could muster. 

God brought us here, he’d told Faraday. 

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Horne,” said the preacher, dæmon perched in her customary spot upon his shoulder. 

“It was my pleasure,” Jack replied, stifling the urge to sigh. Poppy leaned into his healing leg. “I haven’t been to a good service in some time.”

The preacher opened his mouth, but was interrupted.

“Mr. Horne?” Mrs. Frankel was standing in the doorway, her rabbit dæmon at her feet, expression concerned. “Is your leg still bothering you?”

Jack opened his mouth to assure her he was fine when Poppy nipped him gently. He looked down at her and then back up at Mrs. Frankel.

“It’s a bit achy,” he said cautiously. It was true, but he’d dealt with far worse pain before.

“Oh, you’ve probably pulled at your stitches, with all that standing and sitting,” she scolded, striding into the church and over to his pew. “Come on, we’d better get you back to the saloon.”

“I can manage - ”

She clicked her tongue at him impatiently. Jack knew when he was beat; he shut his mouth and let her support him as he stood. His thigh twinged when he went to rest weight on it.

“I’m sturdy enough, you can lean on me a bit,” Mrs. Frankel scolded, noticing his waver. He obeyed, and was surprised despite himself when she took the weight evenly. 

“Should I fetch the doctor?” asked the preacher, wringing his hands anxiously. 

“No, no, I just exerted myself too much,” Jack assured him. He had no desire to go back under the needle of the grouchy doctor. “Just need to rest a bit.”

“Then let’s get you back home,” said Mrs. Frankel firmly, leading him out of the church. “Thank you for the service, Preacher.”

Jack echoed her thanks, and allowed her to guide him down the steps and into the street. Their dæmons trailed behind them, Poppy still slower than usual.

“Where’s your little one?” Jack asked, as they began making their way towards the saloon.

“Miss Emma is looking after him for a little while,” replied Mrs. Frankel. “It’s hard work, looking after a little one on your own.” 

There was grief in her voice, though it was well-hidden. Jack had never asked what had happened to her husband, a realization that shamed him given all the help she had offered him.

“That age can be a trial,” he agreed. His Lizzie had had colic all the time, and little Will had always needed holding to keep him from crying his little lungs out. The good had outweighed the bad, of course, but there had been days when he’d wondered...

“You have children, Mr. Horne?” She asked.

Jack sobered.

“I had children, and a wife,” he said slowly. 

Mrs. Frankel looked at him compassionately. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” he told her. “I’m afraid I never asked about your husband…”

“Bogue killed him the same day he killed Matthew Cullen,” she said, breath catching. “That was… that was a bad day for all of us.”

“I’m sorry.” It felt hollow, but Jack had no idea what else to offer her. No words could take away her loss, just as they couldn’t take away his.

She wiped at her eyes. “We’ve avenged him, and little Caleb will grow up knowing what a good man his father was.” She nodded once, and then turned back to him. “I know you must be getting tired of being thanked, but you’ll just have to get used to hearing it.”

“It was God who brought us here,” said Jack.

Mrs. Frankel clicked her tongue. “God shows us the right path, but He cannot force us to take it. He may have brought you here, but it was you who chose to stay and fight for us.” She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. “So learn to accept our thanks.”

There was only one thing to say to that.

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

The next time Faraday woke up and was conscious enough to remember it, Vasquez and Chisolm were gone, replaced by an unfamiliar man with a cat dæmon, who introduced himself as Dr. McCoy. 

“You’re either the luckiest or unluckiest man in the world,” the good doctor informed him, “I haven’t decided which yet.”

He then proceeded to list off the truly staggering number of injuries Faraday had apparently gotten, while his dæmon sat primly on the chair and gave Faraday unimpressed looks.

“I have my doubts you’ll listen to me,” the doctor continued, “but my advice is for you to stay put and not so much as twitch. Maybe you’ll actually heal back up to something resembling fighting fit, though that leg’ll never work properly again.”

The leg that had gotten shot, shattering a bone and damaging the nerve. Faraday fought back the urge to - he wasn’t sure what. Run? Scream? Cry? He'd never thought this battle would end up with him crippled. Dead, sure. But not able to walk?

“But if we’re careful, you’ll walk.”

That - that was good, Faraday thought faintly, forcing down the panic. He buried his fingers in Ann’s fur. 

Noticing his distress, Dr. McCoy softened his demeanour ever so slightly. “If you listen to my advice, let your friends help you, and keep quiet, things’ll work out.”

He hoped so. God, he hoped so.

After changing his bandages and checking his broken bones (numerous), the doctor left. No sooner had the door closed behind him than it reopened, allowing Vasquez and Chisolm to enter.

“How are you feeling, Faraday?”

“Oh, just peachy,” he replied, too anxious to be genuine. He did not want to lose the ability to walk. The thought of it set his heart pounding and a lump forming in his throat.

“Now, I don’t think that’s entirely true,” said Chisolm, as his dæmon ruffled her feathers. “I have my suspicions about what the good doctor’s been in here telling you.”

“ _Güero,_ ” Vasquez, of course, had noticed his upset immediately. “We’ll help you. I’ll help you.” His coyote rested her head on the side of the bed, inches from Faraday’s right hand.

Chisolm coughed. “I need to go check on Goody,” he said abruptly. “I’ll pick you boys up some food on the way back.”

And then he was gone.

Vasquez shifted, expression going uncomfortable. Ann fidgeted beneath Faraday’s fingers.

“Vas? Something wrong?”

“I…” After taking a deep breath, Vasquez met his gaze, expression gravely serious. “I need to apologize, Faraday.”

“Apologize?” repeated Faraday. “What for?”

“After… after the fight, I went out and found you in the field,” Vasquez began.

Faraday cringed. That had to have been an unpleasant experience. He could only imagine the condition he and Ann must’ve been in, considering how badly off he was this many days later. Vasquez was a brave bastard, and a good one, to put himself through that.

“And I… _lo siento,_ I’m sorry - I had to, I had to get you back to town - ”

Faraday’s brow furrowed. “Vas, I’m tired. What exactly are you sorry about?”

“He touched me,” Ann answered, crawling out from under Faraday’s hand. “That is what you’re apologizing for, isn’t it?”

“ _Si, lo siento, mija_ ,” said Vasquez contritely, before meeting Faraday’s shocked gaze. “I’m sorry, Faraday.”

“You - ” Faraday can’t remember it. He should be able to remember it, shouldn’t he? His mama always said having someone touch your dæmon was the worst feeling in the world, like having someone shove their hands into your chest and squeeze your heart. But no matter how much he strained his memory, he couldn't remember anything after he tossed the dynamite at the Gatling.

“I wouldn’t have done it if I’d had any other choice,” Vasquez said urgently. His dæmon had retreated backwards, closer to his side.

“It’s fine,” said Ann. “We forgive you.”

“What?” said Faraday.

“What?” echoed Vasquez.

“It didn’t hurt,” she continued, still looking at Vasquez. “And I know you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t have to.”

“But - ”

The words were abruptly cut off, as Vasquez’s coyote suddenly darted forward, and pressed her nose into Faraday’s hand.

Vasquez let out a sharp gasp, while Faraday stared in shock at his hand, where he was _touching_ another person’s dæmon.

It didn’t feel like touching a dog, really, but neither did he feel whatever it was Vasquez was feeling. Faraday still didn’t have good control of his limbs, however, and when he tried to pull away, he ended up stroking over the coyote’s muzzle.

Vasquez gave another one of those punched-out gasps, and finally his dæmon pulled back. 

“There,” she snapped, her voice as accented as Vasquez’s. “Now you’ve both touched us. Humans,” she muttered under her breath.

“Humans,” agreed Ann, sounding just as exasperated.

Faraday was still feeling wrong-footed, looking between Vasquez and his dæmon without fully knowing what he wanted to say or do. He hadn’t wanted to touch Vasquez’s dæmon - or had he? He didn’t even remember Vasquez touching Ann, so how was it fair that Vas had to remember him touching his?

“I - I’m sorry,” he blurted out.

Vasquez’s face was flushed red under his dark beard. “It’s - it’s fine, _güero_. We’re good.”

Faraday nodded dubiously, as best he could while flat on his back, anyway. “Right. We’re good.”

Ann exchanged a look with Vasquez’s coyote that suggested that they weren’t, but that they would be soon enough.

* * *

It had been nearly two months since the battle, and Goody was only now being allowed to walk about under his own power. He relished the freedom, even as exhaustion kept him from going much further than the Elysium’s front porch.

Kalliope waited until he’d dropped himself into a chair and then leapt up into his lap, settling down with a contented purr. 

Rose Creek looked much better than he remembered, but then, while he and the others had been convalescing, Sam, Vasquez, and Red Harvest had been helping the surviving townsfolk rebuild. 

Goody had been wondering about the three able-bodied men staying behind to wait for their wounded friends to heal, only for Sam to approach him and Billy one evening.

“I’ve been talking with the others about staying together, once everyone’s healed up,” Sam opened, after the usual round of asking about their own recovery.

“Oh?” asked Goody, glancing down at Kalli who simply blinked placidly.

“Vasquez and Red Harvest are in,” Sam informed them, “and Horne said something about bringing justice to the fatherless, which I believe means he’s in.”

“What about Faraday?” Asked Billy.

Sam shrugged. “Haven’t asked him yet.” He replaced his hat on his head and held out his arm for Hester. “No need to answer right away, just wanted to put the idea out there.”

“We’ll think about it, Sam,” Goody promised.

That had been about two weeks ago. Goody had thought about it, and while the proposal did have its appeals, there was a larger problem weighing on his mind.

Billy was absolutely furious with him.

Goody knew why, of course; he’d left him. He needed to apologize, he knew that, and yet… the words kept getting caught in his throat. It was selfish, but the fear was there: what if an apology wasn’t good enough?

Absentmindedly running his hands through Kalli’s fur, Goody tried to untangle the mess of fears and emotions into something he could actually work with.

He wanted to apologize for leaving Billy. He’d been in the wrong, and he could admit that. He also knew he needed to explain that he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t do it again. His demons would always be there, sometimes lurking out of sight, and sometimes screaming their way into his head.

“You’re thinkin' awfully hard,” Faraday said, interrupting his reverie.

Goody looked up and found Faraday being half-supported by crutches and half by Vasquez’s arm around his waist. Amusingly, their dæmons mirrored them, Vasquez’s coyote playing carriage to Faraday’s hare.

“Sam tell you about his plan for us to all stick together?” Goody asked, unwilling to tell them about his true dilemma.

Vasquez hummed affirmingly, while Faraday nodded. “Yeah, I said sure, why not, I’ve got nothing better to do, so long as he’s alright waiting until the end times for my leg to heal.”

“You’ve been shot and blown up, _güero_ , I think you can wait another three weeks,” Vasquez reminded him, voice going warm.

Oh.

Goody grinned. So that was how things were, was it?

“Well, now that I know you’re part of the deal, Faraday, I’ve got more to think about,” he said lightly, ignoring the outraged squawk. Their dæmons snickered, while Kalli continued politely feigning sleep.

Vasquez chuckled. “Come on, we’ve got an appointment.”

The two of them continued bickering down the street while Goody watched with amusement, eventually disappearing into the apothecary. 

“Have you made a decision?” Kalli asked abruptly.

“A decision?”

“About Billy.”

Goody sighed. “I need to apologize.”

* * *

“Billy?” 

He looked up from his knives. Goody was standing in the doorway, Kalliope in his arms, shoulders high and tense.

“Goody,” Billy replied evenly. Ji shifted beneath his bandana.

“Can we talk?”

Was this the apology he’d been waiting for? Billy waited for a few moments, but finally inclined his head.

Goody shut the door and stepped a bit further into the room, but he didn’t sit down. Kalliope jumped from his arms, but she didn’t come to join Billy on the bed either. Billy kept one eye on Goody as he continued sharpening his knives, waiting.

“I… I owe you an apology, dearest.” 

Billy set down his whetstone.

“I left you, and I didn’t even have the decency to tell you why,” Goody continued. “But that’s - that’s not important, I suppose. I’m sorry.”

Billy looked up. Goody was shaking, half-crushing the brim of his hat in his fists, but his eyes were fixed on Billy’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Goody repeated. “And I can’t promise I won’t leave again. My head - you know how bad I can be. But I promise….” He inhaled sharply. Kalliope went over and twined between his legs, offering what comfort she could.

“Goody,” said Billy, but he was cut off.

“I promise I’ll tell you, next time,” Goody said in a rush. “If I want - if I need to leave. I won’t just sneak away.”

It was what he’d wanted, but Billy didn’t feel the vindication he’d expected. He just felt tired, and sad. He set his knives and tools aside.

“Come here?”

Hesitantly, Goody came. He let Billy pull him down onto the bed, took the opium-laced cigarette offered, and let Billy put his arm around him.

“I accept your apology,” Billy started. “But I owe you one too.” He ignored Goody’s surprised denials and carried on. “I knew how rough things were for you, and I let my own fear control me. I’m sorry.”

“What are you afraid of?” Goody asked, surprise colouring his tone. 

Billy swallowed roughly. Ji slid out from underneath his bandana, rising up onto his shoulder. 

“We don’t want to be left behind,” she said, when it became clear Billy couldn’t get the words out himself. “So don’t leave us again.”

“Oh.” There was a world of realization in that one sound, as Goody’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, Billy.”

Kalliope stepped across Goody’s lap, coming within inches of Billy’s arm. “We’re sorry,” she echoed.

Hesitantly, Billy reached out and stroked over one of her ears. Goody shivered in his arms, and then reached for Ji, who slithered across their arms until she was wrapped around Goody’s neck instead. Pleasure rolled down Billy’s spine, and he moved his hand from Kalliope’s fur to Goody’s face.

“Goody,” he breathed.

They were going to be alright.

* * *

It was strange, staying in one place for so long. For a little while, there’d been so much cleaning up to do that Red hadn’t had time to be bored. There were bodies to bury, and even more bodies to burn, not to mention all of the buildings that had been half-destroyed during the fighting.

Most of the townspeople had relaxed around him by now, no longer flinching when Red looked at them. He mourned the loss of amusement, though he had to admit it was somewhat refreshing. Besides, he still had the game of pretending not to understand English to entertain him whenever he grew too bored.

So there had been cleaning and rebuilding to keep him occupied, but that could only last so long. Taking on hunting duties had helped stave off the boredom, as had keeping watch for curious newshounds or rogue Blackstones.

But the public had quickly lost interest in Rose Creek, and after the first few Blackstones got shot the rest of them grew wiser and left the town alone. Which meant Red had nothing to do except hunt and sit around waiting to go hunt some more.

It was boring.

And boredom made Red do things like agree to games of cards with Faraday, who was handling being bedridden about as poorly as he’d expected.

“And then you raise or fold,” Faraday explained. “And whoever has the better hand wins.”

“This is stupid,” Red muttered, as M ~~u~~ a lazily batted at Faraday’s dæmon, who had bounced awfully close to her tail. 

“Of course you think it’s stupid,” retorted Faraday. “You think everything’s stupid!”

Red gave him a look. “Am I wrong?”

Tossing up his hands in defeat, Faraday gathered up the cards, wincing slightly as he overextended something.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Red snapped, to cover his brief surge of anxiety. “I don’t want to get blamed for it.”

Faraday snorted. “Ain’t nobody gonna blame you for anything,” he assured him, “I’ve been reliably informed that I am the worst damn patient this side of the Mississippi.”

Red could believe it.

“I’ve got your dinner, Mr. Faraday,” the door opened, and the young woman who’d been helping the doctor entered with a plate in her hands. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr…”

“Just call him Red, Mr. Harvest sounds weird,” said Faraday, setting his cards aside.

Red stood. His time stuck in this town had not endeared him to white people's food.

“What, not staying for dinner?”

“Nope.”

Faraday snorted again, waving him off. Red headed downstairs and out of the saloon to Horne’s old camp, where he had a rabbit carcass waiting for him.

“We could leave,” M ~~u~~ a reminded him, as they settled down beside the fire to wait for the rabbit to roast. “Chisolm said we could.”

“Not yet.”

“You really want to travel with them?”

Red considered. There were annoyances to travelling with other people, shitty food chief among them. And yet…

“They’re not boring.”

M ~~u~~ a laughed. “True.” She grew quiet, then, staring into the fire. Red leaned back, listening to the faint crackle of the meat, the gentle wind through the grass. “It’ll be different.”

“Yep,” Red agreed.

They could do with different. Provided they didn’t die of boredom first.

* * *

Three months nearly to the day since that final battle, and finally the seven of them were ready to ride out once more. As they approached the rebuilt church and the trail out of town, Sam looked between each of them, these men who had fought and nearly died alongside him.

Red Harvest was impatient to go. Having escaped injury in the battle, he’d been feeling cooped up for months. Sam had tried to tell him he could leave at any time, but that had only earned him annoyed looks and muttering in Comanche too quick for him to understand.

Faraday, likewise, was chomping at the bit, despite having only started walking a few weeks ago. He still needed support every now and again, but Vasquez was always at his side to offer it. The two of them had been stuck together like glue ever since Faraday had woken up.

Sam met Goody’s gaze and nodded. He and Billy appeared to have made up after everything that had happened, and Sam was looking forward to working with his old friend again. 

“The light is pleasant,” said Horne, as he rode up beside him, “and it is good for the eyes to see the sun.”

“It is indeed,” Sam agreed, nodding to the other man and his dæmon, trotting alongside. “How’s your hand?”

Horne held up his right hand, which had been shot clean through by one of Denali’s arrows. It had healed well, but the fingers could no longer flex and bend as they once had, and a puckered scar marred the palm and back. His dæmon had developed a slight limp on her front right leg.

He shrugged. “The good Lord sets challenges in our path to be overcome,” he said, to Sam’s slightly bewildered nod. “And He will provide.”

“That he will,” said Sam, at a loss for what else to say. Hester cawed in amusement.

Outside the church, Mrs. Cullen, Teddy Q, and the preacher were waiting.

“Mr. Chisolm,” Mrs. Cullen greeted him. She and her dæmon both seemed a bit easier, now, less full up of rage and grief, though he knew she must still have her dark days.

Grief faded, after all, but it never completely went away.

“Mrs. Cullen, Teddy, Preacher,” Sam returned, nodding to each of them. 

“You’ll always have a place here, all of you,” Mrs. Cullen said, looking between the seven of them deliberately. “Whenever you have need.”

“Thank you kindly, Miss Emma,” said Goody, with a tip of his hat. 

Mrs. Cullen smiled, still a rare sight, and looked up at Horne. “Mrs. Frankel wanted me to say that you in particular, Mr. Horne, are welcome back whenever you like.”

Horne flushed red, as Vasquez and Faraday let out delighted whoops and came up to clap him on the back, their dæmons darting forward to harass his wolf. 

“Alright, alright, enough,” Sam said, though he was grinning himself. “Thank you all for your hospitality.”

“We’re the ones who ought to be thanking you, Mr. Chisolm,” said the preacher, his dæmon nodding eagerly. “You’ve given us all our lives back.”

Teddy Q nodded. He’d grown in the past few months, recovering from his injuries and helping to rebuild the town. Sam was glad to see it, see the brave man that had always been there rising to the surface.

“We’ll never be able to thank you all enough.”

“Well, considering you put up with Faraday for the past few months, I think we’ll call it even,” Goody cracked, before dancing out of the way of Faraday’s enraged swipe.

Sam shared a commiserating look with Mrs. Cullen.

“We should let you all go on your way,” she said, stepping aside. “Thank you again.”

“God bless you all,” said the preacher, making the sign of the cross as he followed her lead and moved aside.

Sam tipped his hat to them all, and then led the seven of them out of Rose Creek. The day was warm, the sun was shining, and for the first time in nearly twenty years, Sam felt entirely at peace.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Hester whispered in his ear.

“What, taking up parenthood in our advanced years?” Sam quipped, as Faraday and Goody continued sniping at each other, while Vasquez and Billy alternately rolled their eyes or egged the pair on.

Hester snorted. “Yes, but also working with others. We’ve never done it before.”

Sam nodded slowly. It would be a change, yes, but a good one, he thought. He’d spent so many years consumed by his need for vengeance.

“Maybe it’s time for something new,” he said, gazing out at the ridge on the horizon, and the endless possibilities beyond it.

Yes, it was time to let the past lie. The future awaited them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the end, for now at least!
> 
> thanks again to everyone who's left kudos and comments, I love all of you guys. if anyone wants to talk about our favourite cowboys, you can find me on Tumblr at [bronzemist](https://bronzemist.tumblr.com/)
> 
> the two Bible quotations i referenced in this chapter are Romans 12:2, from the beginning of the chapter, and Isaiah 1:17, which is where Horne took the phrase "bringing justice to the fatherless" from. i don't think I'm the first to use that quote for Horne, but it just suits him so well


End file.
